


Volatile Chemistry

by coplins



Series: Volatile Chemistry 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Asexual Lucifer or possibly demisexual, Asphyxiation, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Barebacking, Big Brother Lucifer, Blood and Gore, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Brother Feels, Coming Out, Cum Play, Dancer Castiel, Dean in Denial, Deepthroating, Denial, Dom/sub Undertones, Dork Boys, Drug Abuse, Drunk Driving, Dubcon Cuddling, Dubious Morality, Edge Play, Excessive Violence, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Eye Sex, F/M, Figure Skater!Castiel, Fluff, Frottage, Gay Panic, Hate to Love, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Hybristophilia, Idjits, Insomnia, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Dean Winchester, Light breath play, M/M, Matchmaker Sam, Mentions of self-harm, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pansexual Castiel, Past Child Abuse, Phone Calls & Telephones, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Lucifer, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Sassy Castiel, Slow Build, Smoking, Substance Abuse, Team Bonding, Teamwork, Texting, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Torture, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, autassassinophilia, bad influence!Castiel, depersonalisation, derealisation, gagging, hockey player!Cas, hockey player!Dean, manipulative!Castiel, normalised violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 87
Words: 352,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel moves back to his birth place in the twin towns (Angel Falls and Freeville) he ends up joining Angel Falls hockey team "The Angels HC" and immediately establish himself as their star player. His team captain Lucifer harbor a strange obsession with a player from their rival hockey team "Team Free Will" which leads to Castiel meeting Sam and Dean Winchester. </p><p>For Sam and Castiel it's instant bromance much to Dean's chagrin. Despite them being on opposing teams Dean is drawn to Castiel and the better he gets to know the Angel the more chaotic and explosive the chemistry between them gets. Because Cas is not the person he seems to be and Dean has some dark secrets of his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The look out spot...

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I can't be bothered with learning all the complicated rules of NHL with their windows for drafting and whatnot so instead of NHL the highest division in this story is called Champion Hockey League (ChHL) and is the highest league in the country. The next step down is Division 1 where The Angels and Team Free Will are currently playing when our story starts.
> 
> Okay so this is a slooooow build. You get that right? If you stick with me you'll get to see these guys behaving badly. Alcohol, violence, disrespecting other people and whatnot. And of course fall in love, be dorky and fluffy.  
> Specific warning posted in the notes of each chapter. Want me to add a tag? Just say which and why. :)  
> Any comment is appreciated. :)
> 
>  **IMPORTANT SHIP NOTE:** When it comes to ships, there are several ships that will breeze by that either are side pairings or past pairings. I haven't tagged those because it's unfair to draw shippers of those ships only for them to see their ships blip by in a second or die for one reason or another. I want to inform my Samifer readers that they need patience. Samifer is almost as much a major pairing in this as Destiel. For plot reasons it does take quite a few chapters until we start getting some lovely on-screen MFEO scenes. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel both seek out a moment of solitude to shake their melancholy. Walks down memory lane and both get to encounter a mysterious stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Triggers this chapter:**  
>  Mentions of past character death, self-destructive behaviour, drunk driving, smoking, mentions of past drug abuse, mentions of past child abuse. Oh, and Dean swears which should come as a surprise to absolutely no one. I think that about covers it.
> 
> The fic starts 2013, when Dean's 24, Sam's 20, Cas is still 25, and Luci 27.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**2013  
THE TWIN TOWNS**

* * *

A river acts as a border between the two towns Angel Falls and Freeville. It starts at the base of the mountain where the Angel Fall waterfall touches ground, snakes its way through the vast pine forest and between the two towns, to finally end in a great lake not far outside the towns. Where the river is the most narrow it’s only 6 meters across and in some places, it swells to about 300 meters wide. Three bridges connect Angel Falls and Freeville. The largest one lies smack in the middle, binding the two largest shopping streets together. It’s a very wide bridge primary made for walking. Weekends see the bridge full of market stalls, belying the two towns as separate entities. Outsiders tend to believe that the twin towns are one small city in itself. This belief is _not_ popular with the locals. They take pride in which side of the river they are born on, even if they work or go to school on the other side. The rivalry between the two towns can be fierce, downright hostile, or reduced to friendly, good-natured banter. It’s a love/hate relationship. While the inhabitants may be caught up in perpetual competition with their counterparts on the other side of the river, they are still co-dependent and will band together against the outside world. They’ll help each other in times of need, as the nearest city is an hour’s drive away. The population keeps its peace by letting their respective hockey teams “The Angels HC” and “Team Free Will HC” battle for them.

This winter a major snowstorm decided to complicate matters pre-season, by collapsing the roof of Freeville’s ice hall. This forced the teams into negotiations about if and how to share the Angels' ice hall while Freeville’s is rebuilt. But this is exactly the kind of matter that binds the twin towns together.

* * *

**MEET "THE DEAN" WINCHESTER**

* * *

Right now the star player of Team Free Will sits in the middle of a group of teammates and hanger-ons at ‘the Roadhouse’, a local pub on the outskirts of Freeville. “The Dean” Winchester is a real wonder child when it comes to hockey. Raw talent mixed with a natural feel for the game. Sometimes he’s a bit of a dirty fighter and quite temperamental - but rarely at a level that will interfere with his gameplay too much. He always scores. At least one goal at every game. And even if he will never admit it - fighting on the ice is something he does merely for crowd-pleasing effects. Faking ill-tempered outbursts, and gladly taking a couple of hits in exchange for the bloodthirsty cheers from the crowd. He doesn’t go to practice as often as he should, but their coach lets that slide, as do his team-mates.

He drinks the last dredge of his beer, laughs politely at some raunchy joke someone makes and winks at the petite blonde who clings to his side. He doesn’t remember her name, he doesn’t really care to know it. Despite the high spirit of tonight's crowd he just isn't feeling it. He excuses himself to go to the toilet, but instead of entering the left door to the restroom, he chooses a door to the right. It’s a back door to the parking lot. He exhales a relieved puff of white mist as the door slams shut behind him, muting the sounds of revelry. He digs a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and shakes one out. He’s throwing covert looks left and right, making sure his kid brother Sam isn't around to see him smoke. He puts the pack back and digs up his lighter and lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Shit. How pathetic is he really? Afraid to be caught smoking by his baby brother. It isn't even a regular habit. A pack will last him a month or two. But _fuck_ , at moments like this, the nicotine hits and unfurls in his body like a liquid calm after the first deep drag of smoke. He exhales and takes another deep inhale of smoke, burning down a third of the cigarette. Exhaling slowly, shaping the smoke into rings.

Nope. He definitely isn't feeling it tonight. A dull ache of melancholy steadily drains him of patience and leaves him longing for some alone time. He takes another drag of smoke and then drops the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out and exhaling the last smoke in a rushed breath. He squeezes his eyes shut and massages the bridge of his nose, trying to work up some motivation to go back inside. 

It’s biting cold outside, but when a particularly high-pitched peal of laughter reached his ears from inside he mutters “Fuck this,” to himself and opts for escape instead. He hurries across the parking lot to the trunk of his most prized possession, his Baby - a black monstrosity of a car. His Baby is an Impala ‘67 that his dad had given him. She was nothing more than a wrecked piece of junk when Dean got her. With his father’s help, he had rebuilt her more or less from scratch, and he’s infinitely proud of it. He removes a thick winter jacket with the team logo from the trunk and puts it on. He takes out and dons a thick knitted scarf, a beanie, and gloves. He closes the trunk, walks around the car and slides into the driver’s seat with a sigh of relief.

For a while he just sits there gripping the steering wheel loosely and watches the puffs of white condense that forms from his exhales in the frigid evening air. Earlier, an icy rain polished all iced surfaces to a glassy sheen but it hadn’t managed to melt much of the deep snow. Now everything is frozen solid again, making the roads treacherous. The black sky has cleared and the full moon bathes everything in a soft light. Dean doesn’t want to go home just yet. He decides where he wants to go, puts the key in the ignition and turns.

* * *

**MEET CASTIEL "CAZZER" COLLINS**

* * *

On the other side of the river there’s a huge house belonging to the Angels HC. Currently, there’s some serious swearing going on in a room on the second floor. Very unlike their twin town competitors, the Angels team are governed by strict rules and regulations, subjecting them to firm discipline. It also obligates them to live together in dorm-like conditions in the big house during seasons. They have to stay together for six days and then they have two days off on a rolling schedule. They are not allowed to drink alcohol or have sex. And they have a curfew―21:00―during the days they are obligated by their contract to live together during seasons.

The curfew is the reason for all the swearing. A duffel bag is thrown out of a window and a dark-clad figure climbs out after it, onto the patio roof.

“Like I'm some kind of depraved delinquent…” Castiel ‘Cazzer’ Collins (Gods! He _hates_ that nickname!) mutters with a scowl as he assesses his surroundings to make sure no one will see his descent. Castiel’s born here in Angel Falls. He’d moved away at the age of four, when his father left his mother and his still unborn sister. He had been brought to Europe, never really looking back. Years passed and word reached him that his mother had died. While that didn't mean much to him, when his father died of a heart attack a couple of years later everything changed for him. The chain of events that followed rendered him rootless, homeless, drifting. Recently, though, he’d been tracked down by an attorney that informed him that his sister Anna who he’d never met, had died of cancer, and that he was her only living relative and thus her heir. He decided to come back here and settle down.

Anna’s house is in need of extensive repairs, though, before it will be liveable. So when he heard about a hockey team in town that provides boarding and food, combined with discipline that rendered free thinking moot, he thought it was _perfect_.

Right now he curses his stupidity. A grown man sneaking out of a window on the second floor at night in the middle of winter? Ridiculous. When the coast is clear he slides to the edge of the patio roof, aims for a deep pile of snow, swings over the ledge, and drops. It’s all executed with cat-like grace. Then he picks up his duffel bag and jogs to his car that’s parked a block away. 

As much as he’s cursing the firm rules of the team this very instant, in general, he values it a lot. It reminds him of his childhood and his father’s strict discipline. Always driving him to practice for hours on end every day, both in and out of the ice hall. Always striving for perfection that would cause Father’s lips to curl into a proud smile. Obedience equalled happiness. But that was before Father’s demise, before Meg’s passing.

He slips in behind the steering wheel and draws a breath of relief. Breaking the rules might have consequences if he gets caught, but not tonight. Tonight he’s going to take a break from hockey and indulge in memories of the past. Reminiscing about a time in his life when he still had happiness.

* * *

**THE LOOKOUT SPOT**

* * *

Dean’s parked at one of the lookout spots overlooking the lake. It’s a popular make-out spot during summer, but once the weather turns sour no one except him ever comes here. Dean has wrapped himself in a thick blanket and crawled up onto the hood of the Impala, sipping cheap whiskey straight from the bottle, trying to shake his melancholy.

It’s eerily beautiful. The dark forest shrouded in white. The frozen lake, polished by today’s rain to a high sheen It reflects the full moon and lights up the surroundings from below. The black Uncountable numbers of stars dot the black sky. The ice makes hollow ‘oooing’ sounds as it freezes further. It soothes Dean’s soul. Making him feel insignificant by the vastness of it all, yet also as if he’s part of something huge and extraordinary.

A pair of headlights become visible on the road below him, breaking him out of his reverie. The car parks as close as possible to the beach. Dean frowns, not liking the intrusion into _his_ ‘personal’ getaway. 

A black-clad figure swings their legs outside of the driver's seat and fiddles with their (his?) shoes. No, wait! Putting on ice skates! Dean realizes with a start, recognizing the familiar motion pattern.

“What the Hell?” he mutters under his breath.

The man (because it’s a man―clothes more slim fitting than the weather merits, reveal a distinctively masculine silhouette) straightens, slams the car door shut and makes his way down to the ice. He removes the protective sheaths covering the blades of the skates and steps out on the ice. 

Within minutes Dean’s initial irritation of getting his solitude invaded has given way to curiosity. The man warmed up (not enough, really), and starts to pick up his speed. The ice makes eerie sounds and groans of complaint under his weight. Then the man starts to skate in earnest. Dean takes a swig of whiskey and mutters a quiet, disbelieving “ _Son of a_ …” 

The man’s _figure skating_! Like a chick! Pfft. Nope, nothing girly about it _at all_ now that the man is skating in earnest. It’s beautiful. He’s skating in curving patterns, hands outstretched from his sides.

“Christ!” Dean exclaims when the man suddenly makes a series of impressively high jumps, spinning God knows how many times in the air and then lands gracefully without losing speed.

This is no ordinary man hobby skating, Dean reflects. Fuck no! This dude is clearly professional. Graceful and skilled enough for the Olympics as far as Dean’s concerned. Bruce Lee meets ballet on ice. So what the _Hell_ is he doing here, in the middle of the night, skating in secret on a lake in the woods next to nowheresville-twin-towns?! Who is he?

Dean can only think of one person he knows of in the twin town area that might be able to come close to skating like this. And that’s using the term ‘come close to’ _veeery_ loosely. It’s the founder and trainer of Team Free Will HC - Gabriel ‘The Trickster’ Milton. This is obviously not him, as Dean would recognize Gabe’s familiar form anywhere. And besides, Gabe loves an audience. He wouldn’t waste effort putting on a show like this unless there are at least 50 people watching.

At this point it’s evident that the man’s performing a full program, probably meant to be skated to music. Intricate patterns, quick stops, swooping dips, speedy footwork, different advanced jumps, carving figures in the blank surface beneath him.

Dean has a crazy impulse of wanting to join the man on the ice. Lace on his own hockey skates he keeps in the trunk, and add his much less graceful style of skating as a gruff counterbalance to the dance. Like a sharp, jagged bass laid by Dean, merging with the melody of the other man’s intricate techniques.

Dean takes another swig of whiskey, feeling faintly ashamed. First of all, he realizes he’s voyeuring something private. This isn’t something meant for an audience, or the man would have done this in the ice hall. If Dean should suddenly appear on the ice, the odds are that the man would just stop what he’s doing and leave.

Secondly, the art of figure skating is reserved for females according to Dean’s father, and chick stuff was taboo in the Winchester household. That’s something Dean had gotten striped into his back when he was ten and announced to his dad that he wanted to become a dancer. It had been a painful lesson not only because of the welts on his back, but also because of the disappointed looks his dad had given him for at least a month afterwards. And because how pointedly he had been ignored at the dinner table while his dad lectured his kid brother Sam about what a ‘ _real man_ ’ did and did not do.

Dean still didn't really understand how dancing and figure skating was unmanly. When he’s alone he will watch ‘So you think you can dance’, ballet, ice dance and figure skating on TV. The men participating in those sports are strong, well built, disciplined, and graceful. They perform actions that require years of training and a very high pain threshold. These are not sports for the feeble, weak, and lazy! Yet he hadn’t argued with his dad about this. He hadn’t wanted to risk punishment and disappointment again.

Certainly not when Dean’s prowess in hockey had earned him proud looks of approval when he performed particularly well in a game.

His dad may be dead, but all this is ingrained in Dean’s core by now. All of this leaves a sense of guilt, shame, and longing in him. The cold is biting and he drinks some more to keep warm. Sitting still drains his body heat despite the thick blanket, winter clothes, and booze. It’s time to get a move on.

The skater doesn’t seem to be quitting anytime soon, which in itself also speaks of him being a professional, working himself into exertion and having the ability to go on and on and on. This presents Dean with a dilemma. If he waits until the man is done he might have to remain still for a long time, risking frostbite. But if he gets into his car and turns the ignition on, the man would know he’d been watched. Dean doesn’t really want that. It would feel like being caught reading someone’s diary.

After a moment’s hesitation the dropping temperature makes the decision for him. He slides off the hood, puts the blanket and the remaining liquor in the trunk, then he gets into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. As soon as Baby’s headlights are on, he sees the man on the ice falter and turn his attention towards Dean’s car. Dean huffs, smiles a rueful smile, and flashes the headlights twice as if to say “I see you, buddy,” before he puts his car in reverse and drives away.

* * *

**HELLO STRANGER!**

* * *

Castiel’s body’s burning in exertion but he doesn’t let up. Here on the moonlit lake, he feels free. It’s so still and serene. There’s no wind, so every exhale leaves white swirls hanging in the air before dissipating. Castiel lets his mind wander to his teen years. The long hours of practice under Father’s stern and scrutinizing glare. The competitions, first alone and then with Meg by his side. Ambitious, ruthless, and devoted Meg. Beautiful, sarcastic, and sometimes cruel even. Yet so loyal and vulnerable once she let him in under her façade. The first girl he ever kissed. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. After performing a perfectly executed program on a competition they kissed, smack in the middle of the ice. The crowd cheered wildly but they didn't notice, swept up in each other as they were.

After that they’d ruled the youth scene of ice dancing and figure skating. Always winning, aiming for the Olympics, for World Championship. They were unstoppable! 

...Or so he’d thought.

Within a year he’d lost everything. He was 17 when Father died of a heart attack. Castiel’s world crumbled in on its foundation. Meg had been his solid rock in a world in chaos, showing him love, patience, compassion, and warmth he alone knew she was capable of. Only two months later disaster struck again. A lorry driver fell asleep at the wheel and rammed straight into the cab Meg was in. And just like that, she too was gone and Castiel spiralled into black despair. 

He could no longer train or compete. The pressure was too great, and with no one at his side to tell him what to do, or to motivate him, he was lost. He couldn't skate, because every time he put his skates on he was reminded that Meg was dead and he was alone. He’d just up and left on a quest of self-destruction. He changed his name from ‘Novak’ to his mother’s maiden name ‘Collins’ because he couldn't stand to be recognized.

For years he drifted. Caught up in between grief and rage. He drifted between countries, towns, and cities. Meeting lots of people, but still alone on the inside. As he couldn't skate he danced instead, gaining familiarity with the clubs in the underbellies of any city. Nights turned into a blur of sex, violence, alcohol, and occasionally drugs. He took odd jobs or conned his way forth.

After a while he started to feel the tug of the ice once again. He ached to skate but couldn't stand the thought of doing so without Meg. A bunch of youths playing hockey on a frozen lake in Sweden had been his salvation. They coaxed him to join, letting him borrow a pair of skates. It proved to be his way back. Playing hockey didn’t bring any associations to Meg or Father, yet all the familiar, soothing aspects were there. Rushing over the ice, exerting himself, the cold bite of the ice halls.

He turned out to be good at it too! He’s often compared to former ChHL player ‘The Trickster’ due to his many unconventional moves that really have their roots in figure skating - but people don’t have to know that. He prefers if that fact stays buried.

It had been pure therapy for Castiel. Teammates, rules, and long hours of practice slowly brought him back to some semblance of life. It took him years to be able to think of his past and of Meg without falling apart. 

Now all that remains is a sense of melancholy and longing. A year ago he put on figure skates again without anguish for the first time since the accident. It brought back the good memories rather than the bad. He still doesn’t want to share his past, doesn’t want the questions or the pity concerning the brilliant career he’d had, that died with Father and Meg.

So he steals hidden moments like this - skating on a frozen lake in the middle of the night, only seen by the stars.

Or that was the point, at least. Two headlights suddenly flare to life and break Castiel out of his concentrated reverie. He slows and turns his body fully towards the lights. A big dark car is parked on a high ledge overlooking the lake. He can’t discern the make or model of the car due to the bright lights and the darkness, but it must have been parked there all this time, considering that he can hear the engine revving in the still night. Even in deep concentration he would’ve heard an engine of that calibre coming.

The headlights blink twice, acknowledging Castiel. Affirming that he has been skating for an audience all along. Then the car backs up and disappears from view, only throwing large shadows from the trees it passes. Much further down the road it becomes visible again―a dark spot with red tail lights heading towards the twin towns.

Castiel doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Part of him feels awkward, embarrassed and vulnerable. Like when Father walked in on him masturbating naked as a young teen. But unlike that situation, this isn’t really shameful - only private. He doesn’t want anybody here to know about his past, who he once had been. Yet in one corner of his soul, it feels comforting to share this moment with someone. He just wishes he knew with _whom_! Possibly not so difficult to find out, though. The growl of the engine of that car set it apart from most cars. And there can't be _that_ many muscle cars in twin towns, now can there? He has yet to see one. (Secret audience not included.)

He keeps skating for a while longer, pondering the stranger’s invasion of his past. He doesn’t let up until he’s totally exhausted.

* * *


	2. Budding bromance and strange dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer introduces Castiel to Sam, Sam and Castiel have a moment, Benny thinks Castiel is weird, Castiel thinks Sam and Lucifer have strange dynamics, Balt gets a bit nervous, and Dean is pissed off at Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers in this chapter I don't think... swearing perhaps?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**AT THE CROSSROADS**

* * *

‘Crossroads’ is bustling with life right now, but the rush of lunch guests is finally waning. ‘Crossroads’ is a restaurant placed in the middle of the largest bridge binding the twin towns together. The owner, Fergus Crowley, built his restaurant there to draw guests from both sides of the river. It worked with great success, acting a bit like neutral ground. This morning an agreement finally has been made, outlining how The Angels and Team Free Will are going to share the Angels’ rink until the Freevillians’ has been rebuilt. This is the general talk of both the towns.

Castiel sits at a table with his team Captain Lucifer and another teammate, Balthazar. These two are considered to be the most ‘rebellious’ of the Angels, and he’s found himself gravitating towards them, quickly becoming friends. The two of them are vastly different as individuals. Balt always talks, jokes, flirts, and sometimes seems a bit scatter headed. (Which he is _not_.)

Lucifer on the other hand…

Sometimes he makes Castiel’s skin crawl, with his cold blue eyes under slightly hooded lids. He’s ruthless, arrogant, efficient, calculating, self-centered and demanding. And yet... He’s also curious, determined, and mischievous, and Castiel finds himself liking the man a lot. His skills on the ice are tremendous and the only reason he’s not a ChHL star by now is that he stubbornly keeps turning offers down.

The reason _why_ has eluded Castiel up until now. (At least, now he’s seeing Lucifer act in a way strange enough to merit not wanting to move from town.) Lucifer isn't listening to Balt. Instead, his gaze has locked on two men in Free Will’s red team jackets, entering the restaurant just now. Or rather, his eyes are locked solely on the taller man with longish brown hair. Lucifer’s eyes seem to burn with possessiveness. It doesn’t even seem to be a sexual thing, just sheer want to own - like a predator focused on prey.

Castiel has never seen his Captain display feelings this raw. (Okay, so he hasn't been part of the team for very long, but still.) He usually wears an expression of curious indifference, mild amusement, or annoyance. Granted, Castiel might be reading too much into Lucifer’s current expression. Balt certainly doesn’t react as if it’s out of the ordinary. Lucifer is simply locked as intently on the target (the tall man) as he is when he’s shooting the puck to score a goal. Except he’s radiating an air of ownership claim, coming from him in fumes.

Although his own social skills are often described as ‘lacking’ (actually not remotely true), if there’s one thing he had learned growing up, and during his time as a vagrant, it’s how to read subtle shifts in body language and facial expressions. This had been necessary to avoid potentially dangerous situations. (Or, to be honest with himself - seek them out. As full of anger as he had been, he had revelled in dirty back alley fights whether he won them or not.)

The two freewillians take a seat in a booth by the windows, not far from their table. Castiel can catch drifts of their conversation now. Something about how the stockier shorter man’s first date with a girl named Andrea had gone. All spoken in a Louisiana drawl, while the tall man’s listening attentively, only breaking concentration when the waitress comes by to take their order. Castiel notes that they order beers - they are not under alcoholic contract restraint like the Angels.

“Here I am telling you the most deliciously entertaining anecdote about strippers, llamas, and a clownmobile, and you two louts just zone out to ogle the competition!” Balt exclaims in mock consternation. 

Castiel turns his attention back to the Englishman. “I apologize if my concentration strayed. But in all fairness, I just moved here and this is my first encounter with anyone connected to the team reputed to be our Arch-Nemesis. I do believe my curiosity to be justified,” he offers, quirking a corner of his lip.

Incidentally, it’s the excuse Lucifer has been waiting for. He quickly snags up both his and Castiel’s soft drinks and heads for the freewillians’ table, leaving Castiel with no choice but to follow. Balt rolls his eyes and stays put, opting instead to chat up a waitress.

Lucifer puts his drink down on the table beside the tall man’s beer, Castiel’s on the opposite side of the table, and proceeds to slide in on the bench beside the tall man. He drapes his arm over the backrest behind the tall man, all in languid, relaxed movements. Both freewillians give a start when the glasses are set on the table and stiffen when they see who put them there.

Castiel takes note that when Lucifer’s fingertips of the arm he draped over the backrest behind the tall man, come to rest lightly on his shoulder, the tall man stills completely. As in trying not to move a muscle, or breathe, for that matter. Possibly like you would if you suddenly found yourself being sniffed by a wild grizzly bear. He’s wary, but Castiel can’t pick up on any hostility from him. The same can’t be said for the man with the bayou drawl that Castiel sat down next to. He ignores Castiel and scowls murderously at Lucifer.

“Sammy, my boy. I hear we’re going to share our rink with you for a while,” Lucifer purrs amiably.

“It’s Sam,” the tall man corrects curtly with a slight hint of exasperation like this is a common occurrence for him.

“Whataya want, Morningstar?” the bayou man interjects stiffly.

Lucifer looks at him and smiles pleasantly, but his eyes are cold. “Since we’re going to be so… close… this season, I thought it prudent to introduce you to our newest team member,” he says without taking his eyes off the bayou man glaring back at him. “Castiel, this is Benny Lafitte…” he continues and gestures at the bayou man with his free hand, “...and this is Sam Winchester.” He pats Sam on the shoulder in indication. “Sam, Benny, this is Castiel Collins.”

Castiel offers his hand in greeting and both men shake it. Sam meets his eyes squarely, no animosity visible. “You recruit solely by the name nowadays?” he says with a slight teasing smile.

It gives Castiel a slight pause. Very few know his name is the name of an angel. His lips tug in a slight smile in return.

Lucifer ignores Sam’s remark, either not catching the meaning or not caring. Instead he says: “He was put on the roster last Thursday.”

Sam’s face splits up in a big, dimpled grin, eyes shining warmly of mirth. Castiel grins back and shrugs his shoulders mock-apologetically. As rare as it is for people to know he has the name of an angel, it’s rarer still for them to know it’s the angel of Thursday.

While Sam and Castiel share their private joke/having a moment or whatever, Benny looks back and forth between them with a bemused expression. Lucifer is also looking at the both of them. His expression is thoughtful but otherwise unreadable. “Cazzer here will give Dean a good run for his money,” Lucifer offers - another tidbit of information to the present company.

That makes Benny laugh and look sceptically at Castiel while Sam gives him a curious once over. “A little shrimp like this?” Benny scoffs.

Which is ridiculous. He and Benny are of the same height. And even if Benny is much heavier, Castiel is far from skinny. He’s wiry and well muscled. The jab doesn't bother him, though. He glances at his Captain anyway, in case Lucifer wants him to fight. Lucifer just observes from under his heavy lids as usual, giving no indication to what he wishes. He plays with Sam’s hair where it brushes the shoulder. 

Sam ignores him and chooses to be diplomatic. “Dean always plays his best when he’s got good competition,” he says.

Castiel gives him a smile. “I don’t know who Dean is Sam, but I do appreciate worthy opponents. I find myself being inspired and invigorated by being forced to perform on the utmost limit of my capacity. If you think Dean will pose such a challenge for me, I shall look forward to going head to head with him on the ice.”

Benny mutters “Who the hell talks like that?” quietly and eyeballs him sceptically.

Sam smiles warmly, still doing his best to pretend Lucifer doesn't exist. Castiel doesn't really understand the strange dynamics between Sam and Lucifer. Lucifer isn't sitting particularly close, he’s just leaning towards Sam in a relaxed manner with his arm behind Sam’s back on the backrest. The only point of contact is his fingers on Sam’s shoulder, idling with hair, or simply touching. It’s clearly making Sam uncomfortable, and yet he makes no move to protest or extract himself from Lucifer. He only ignores him. Castiel can’t pick up on any sexual undertones either, so there’s something else going on here.

“Dean is my….” Sam begins to explain when an enraged shout from the door shatters the peace at the Crossroads and cuts him off.

“ **GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY BROTHER, YOU CREEPY SON OF A BITCH!!!** ”

Another man in a red Free Will HC jacket comes striding towards them, freckled cheeks flushed red in anger. He’s scowling fiercely, and his green eyes radiate bloody murder. Clearly, this is Dean. Castiel mentally prepares for a fight and schools his face into a neutral expression. The next second Lucifer confirms the newcomer’s identity by saying “Speak of the devil…” with a faintly amused smirk. He extracts himself from Sam and glides out of the booth with languid motions as Dean comes to a halt beside the table. The two of them square off, testosterone oozing in the air. Dean’s hands are balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides and the muscles in his jaw keep twitching.

Lucifer’s unfazed by Dean’s rage, standing tall, casually smirking, even when Dean steps closer until only inches separates them.

“Now you listen to me, you piece of shit!” Dean hisses between gritted teeth. Lucifer cuts him off with a taunting expression.

“Aww. You afwaid I’m gonna take youw pwecious Sammy fwom you?”

“It’s _Sam_!” Sam protests but is promptly silenced by Dean’s “Shut up, Sammy!” That makes Sam roll his eyes, irritated.

The whole restaurant has gone quiet now, all focus on the two men locked in a battle of wills. Balt has stood up and edged his way closer in case it comes to blows. Which it will, unless something changes soon. Castiel can feel that Benny‘s tense at his side, sees him change his grip on the beer bottle so it can be used as a weapon. Sam has his head rested on top of the backrest, staring at the ceiling in exasperation, arms lax at his sides. Clearly, he is sooo done with this and wants nothing to do with it.

Adrenaline shoots through Castiel’s system. The situation becomes more explosive by the second. Subconsciously he begins cataloguing details about his would-be opponents. Both the Winchester brothers have a multitude of small scars on their hands. Their knuckles are flat and rough like they get when they've been crushed and hardened by repeated fighting over time, without the protection of tape or gloves. Benny’s knuckles are not, but his loose grip on the bottleneck, and the angle of his elbow ready to swing in a heartbeat, tells Castiel that he favours using weapons. Sam has an old faded scar from his left temple disappearing up into his thick mop of brown hair, possibly caused by a bottle. Dean has a multitude of small but faded scars on his face and neck, hardly noticeable unless you look for them. His nose shows signs of being broken in the past.

Castiel slides out of the booth and gets to his feet cautiously as not to trigger the situation. He turns towards Sam, the least hostile of the bunch. Sam’s head snaps up when Castiel speaks.

“This encounter has been…” he tilts his head and squints in search for words, “...interesting.” He pauses slightly before continuing. “However, it is high time for me and my comrades to vacate this establishment, as we are obligated to present ourselves at practice shortly.” Castiel smiles slightly. “I have enjoyed my conversation with you, Sam Winchester, short as it may have been.”

Sam smiles, stands up and offers him a hand that Castiel shakes. “Yeah. Me too,” Sam says. “Hey! We should get a beer together sometime,” he suggests.

 _That_ suddenly gets the attention of the rest of the hockey players from both teams, who’re now staring at him and Sam.

“I would like that,” Castiel answers with a slight smile before turning to leave.

Just to find himself toe to toe and eye to eye with furious green eyes burning with challenge, blocking his way. Castiel lets his face become neutral and tilts his head slightly. Meeting Dean’s gaze squarely with an inquisitive squint, not giving away any of his own emotions except for curiosity. He’s vaguely aware of Lucifer sauntering past them towards the door and Sam telling Dean to back off. Most of his focus is on Dean, though. He knows that his white and sky blue Angels HC team jacket might act as a trigger to Dean so he remains still, waiting. He doesn't know for how long they’re locked like this, it feels like minutes but could be seconds. The anger in Dean’s eyes slowly gives way to uncertainty. Finally, Dean takes a step back and breaks their eye contact.

“Dean,” Castiel says with a polite nod and walks towards the exit as Dean gives him a startled look.

When they leave Crossroads Balt joins him on his left side and Lucifer falls back to his right. They walk in silence for a bit. Balt is unusually quiet, stiff, and keeps fidgeting nervously. Lucifer’s expression is unreadable. When they stop to let two women with strollers pass, Lucifer turns to him. “Did you flirt with Sam Winchester?” he asks.

Castiel is baffled by the question. He tilts his head and regards Lucifer while he repeats everything that just happened at Crossroads in his head, examining the memories. Finally he answers “No.”

Lucifer’s gaze picks him apart. He’s weighed and measured and assessed. It makes his skin crawl. A long moment later Lucifer smiles and turns away to keep walking. Balt visibly relaxes, appearing almost giddy as Castiel is ‘cleared’ from whatever that was about. Balt then immediately launches into a story about three Spaniards and a bolt cutter. Castiel only listens with half an ear. He’s mulling over and analysing the recent events.

* * *


	3. Did I mention his eyes were blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is unnerved by Castiel and we get to know more about Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Dean swears. He does that a lot so really, if that is a trigger for you this fic is not going to be pleasant for you.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**A PAIR OF BLUE EYES**

* * *

“Who the _Hell_ was that?!” Dean exclaims but won’t give Sam an opportunity to answer. “So what? You’re BFF with a _fuckin’ Angel_ now, is that it?” he rambles on and slides into the spot Castiel recently vacated. 

On the inside he’s reeling as if he’s been physically hit, and he doesn't know why. One minute he was fuming, world reaching him through a red haze of ‘ _MurderDeathKill!!_ ’. The next thing he knows he is drowning in fearless blue eyes, curiously picking his soul apart, reading his mind, uncovering his every secret and then putting all the pieces back, but slightly out of place from where he found them. At least, that’s what it fucking felt like! Oh, and BLUE. Did he mention the man's eyes were _holy- **fuck** -how-is-that-colour-not-illegal- **blue**_?

"He was nice! What does it matter if he’s an Angel, anyway? We're not on the ice right now," Sam defends himself irritably.

Dean stares at his little brother as if he suddenly had grown horns.

"It isn’t exactly custom to hang out with the competition," Benny interjects. "But apart from him speakin' funny he seemed like a decent enough fella."

Dean takes a swig of this beer to calm down. His knee bounces up and down from restless energy. Fair enough. The blue-eyed stranger with the creepy, soul-searching stare hadn't seemed hostile. And apparently, Sam had taken an instant liking to him, which under normal circumstances would have been good enough for Dean. But an Angel? And one of Lucifer's cronies to boot! That in itself ought to mean there's something fishy about the dude. Still, even Benny gave him the benefit of a doubt. That certainly counts for something.

"Who is this dude anyway?" Dean asks once he’s calmed down a bit.

"His name is Castiel Collins. He joined ranks with the Angels just the other week, and according to Lucifer he'll be giving you a run for your money," Sam explains. Dean scoffs and Benny shrugs.

"I'm as sceptical as you are, brother, but he might be good. Morningstar rarely lies to Sam," Benny concedes after a bit of hesitation.

Yeah. And if that isn't creepy as fuck too. Biggest douchenozzle in twin towns has been obsessed with his kid brother since they met when Sam was 14 and joined Team Free Will's youth division. Lucifer had been 21 for fuck sake! Dean couldn't begin to figure out _why_ , and that made him sick to his stomach. Six years and the creeper still hasn't lost interest. It had gotten even worse two years ago when Sam turned 18 and joined the big boy team, which meant that he plays against the Angels alongside Dean and Benny. Dean worries what will happen this season since the Angels' former captain, Michael Filiusdei, has left the team to play in ChHL and Lucifer has taken the role as the new captain. It’s no secret that Lucifer and Michael had been in constant battle the last year. Or rather, it _is_ a secret, but Sam had asked Lucifer about it and gotten a truthful answer.

"Maybe you should google Castiel and see if you can find any information on him. I doubt they'd take him in if he didn't have any previous skills to boast. See if you can find out what style he uses so you're better prepared when we meet them on the ice," Sam suggests.

"Just because he's your latest crush, Samantha, doesn't make him good," Dean sneers. This earns him a high-powered bitch face from Sam and makes Benny chuckle.

" _Whatever_ , Dean," Sam snipes with an eye roll and gets up. "I'm off to my shift at Bobby's. Catch you guys later," he says and walks away.

Bobby Singer owns a hardware store and a car repair shop where both brothers work on and off. Dean as a mechanic and Sam as a salesclerk in the store. They don't actually need the job since the hockey team pays a salary that might be somewhat meagre, but pays the bills. And since the brothers share a two bedroom apartment they have enough money to live well. But Bobby more or less adopted them after their dad died and it feels good to have a job to do. Helping him out is more about paying homage to the gruff love and kindness he bestowed upon the brothers. 

Dean’s not going to google this Castiel guy. He’s certain that Sam will research him thoroughly as soon as he gets home tonight. Reading up on his past, statistics, and watch every YouTube clip he can find with the guy. Dean won't bother. He rarely does. He’s more of a 'roll with the punches' kind of guy, and as far as he is concerned he can skate circles around most other players. And if he can’t..? Well. That just makes the game more interesting, right?

"So anyway," he says and turning to Benny. "I heard we're finally cleared to share the rink. Have you heard what schedule we've gotten yet?"

"Nah, brother. Nothing. But I did hear they drove a hard bargain," Benny tells him with a smile.

"Yeah. I bet those bastards have come up with some way to fuck with us," Dean surmises.

Benny shrugs and inclines his head in agreement. "At least they didn't charge us anything," he says.

Their conversation gets cut short by both their mobile phones beeping at the same time, indicating incoming texts. '`TEAM MEETING AT THE ROADHOUSE IN ONE HOUR`' it reads.

Their coach Gabriel often does this. Sends them texts and expects them to drop everything. Luckily any employer of a freewillian is aware of this, and accepts sudden loss of workforce without a grudge. Dean smiles to himself, imagining Sam's consternation about having to turn back around halfway to work.

"Let's roll!" Dean says when both he and Benny have downed their beers.

* * *

**GABRIEL AND THE ROADHOUSE**

* * *

The Roadhouse is closed during the day and has become the unofficial clubhouse of Team Free Will since the day Gabriel saved the owner's daughter from drowning when she went through the ice of the lake two winters ago. The owner's―Ellen Harvelle―gratitude had known no bounds. She’s gladly surrendered a spare key to Gabe so he can house team meetings there.

Lifesaver or not, the thought of giving Gabe a spare key makes Dean shudder. His nickname 'the Trickster' is apter than most of his ChHL fans could ever begin to suspect. Gabe’s a notorious, almost compulsive, prankster. With other words - not someone you'd give free rein to your house. Something Ellen had (repeatedly) found out the hard way.

One of his most recent pranks on her had been switching out all salt in the shakes for sugar, all ketchup with strawberry jam, mustard was replaced with custard. Every type of beer on tap replaced with raspberry soda, cream soda and whatnot. Every piece of bread replaced with a sweet look-alike counterpart. Fruits instead of salad. The hamburger patties traded for something vaguely similar made of berries and some sweet soft cheese. After the initial string of _very_ colourful curses Ellen had, surprisingly, taken it all in stride. Declaring it "Sweet Week" and serving cocktails instead of the missing beer. She added grilled pineapple to the berry burgers and tweaked the menu to fit. Basically making everybody eat dessert for dinner for the whole week. It turned out a success! Anytime Gabe came in she acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, never once mentioning the pranks. 

More than one patron had been a bit disappointed when they came back to find that normal order was restored. Some of the drinks invented during Sweet Week remained on the menu, though, being too popular to drop.

Not giving Gabe a key isn't much protection. The guy can pick a lock faster than Dean ever could. Dean would have thought Gabe to have juvvie records as long as Santa's list. He doesn’t. He’s squeaky clean. When asked about it, Gabe shrugs it off with an "If you never get caught..." winks, and leaves it at that.

Gabriel Milton is born and raised in Angel Falls and started his career in the Angels HC youth division. He’s very short for a hockey player, but fast and nimble. The things he can do on a pair of skates is rarely seen in hockey. He got snatched up by a ChHL team as soon as he turned 18. He then proceeded to have a lustrous career in ChHL for 10 years until he suddenly for no apparent reason declared that he was retiring. He moved back to his hometown and once again surprised everybody by turning down the offer to be the head coach for the Angels. Instead, he formed a new team on the other side of the river. Thus Team Free Will HC was born. Free Will HC has been in existence for 13 years now and is doing well. It hadn't taken Gabriel long to put together a team that rivalled the Angels. He keeps up recruiting young talents despite the meagre payment the team offers compared to the bigger salaries you can get from the Angels.

On the other hand, Gabriel inspires loyalty beyond what money can buy. Despite all his pranks and sometimes douchey behaviour, he has a caring heart and takes good care of his team, making them feel more like a family. This is what makes Dean and other great players stay, instead of moving on to the ChHL. Freeville treats the team members like royalty. And today both Free Will and the Angels play in division 1, both aiming to make the ChHL. All they have to do is come in first or second this season and then wipe the floor with the two bottom teams of ChHL, nudging them down to Division 1 instead.

Dean will be forever grateful and loyal to Gabriel for reasons beyond hockey. Reasons he doesn’t want to think about. Gabriel is the only one who knows Dean's darkest secret, and has helped Dean keep the secret too. Painful memories of his childhood and youth flare up whenever he thinks about that. Things he has done that he should regret, but only regrets he hadn't done sooner. And Gabe had seen him. Unprompted, he’d provided Dean with an alibi when the police spoke to him. Using his magic and his charm to make the investigation that followed go away, despite the fact that Gabe would risk much more if caught, than Dean would as a minor. They have never talked about it. But in the end, it means that whenever Gabe calls, Dean will come. Even to stupid team meetings...


	4. Anything you can do - I can do it better!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets his nickname, Dean and Cas experience the very opposite of instant bromance, Cas loses his temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings in this one because seriously, I'm not going to keep warning you of swear words, okay?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**BREAKING THE RULES**

* * *

Dean and Sam sit by a window-table in a coffee shop on Main street, when Sam all the sudden bangs on the window and waves frantically to someone outside. Dean looks up from his game of Wordfeud on his phone to see Castiel stop outside and break into a smile. Sam gestures for him to come inside. Dean rolls his eyes. Great. There goes the brotherly bonding time. That the both of them have been occupied with their phones isn't the point, okay? They don’t need any friggin' Angels to come spoil it all. Apparently, Sam disagrees, because when Castiel comes in he rises and shakes the man's hand heartily. 

"Hey Castiel! How nice to see you again!"

"Likewise, Sam."

"So you and my brother didn't get properly introduced last time," Sam says with a smile and gestures towards Dean while he sits back down. "This is Dean, Dean this is―" Dean cuts him off and extends his hand for Castiel to shake.

"Yeah I remember, Cas, right?" he says, trying to sound bored and misspeaking his name on purpose. The man has a firm, steady handshake and oh, so _Blue-fucking-eyes_. Crap! Snap out of it!

Cas looks startled for a second but then smiles, and before Sam can correct Dean, he nods. "That's right. Cas," he says, looking very pleased.

It takes Dean a while to remember to let go of the hand and look away, because, you know, staring into a strange man's eyes for _waaay_ too long is just not something you are supposed to do. He directs his attention back to his mobile phone, feeling an embarrassed flush creep up his cheeks. He hopes no one else notices.

"Hey, I've got tonight off, how about go grabbing that beer?" Sam suggests, grinning at Cas. Christ! Can’t his little brother find friends on his own side of the river? Dean's annoyance is possibly out of proportions, but fuck if he cares. Cas grates on his nerves for some reason, and he’s only seen the dude less than minutes altogether.

"I regret that I have to decline that offer as it would be against team rules," Cas laments dejectedly. Then he perks up, eyes sparkling with mischief. (Not that Dean’s watching him through the corners of his eyes, because he totally _isn't._ ) "But if you are interested in breaking rules with me, your company would be appreciated. I'm on my way to the library to research house repairs. They have a sign prohibiting food and drink..." Cas looks around covertly and then leans in conspiratorially while slowly opening the zipper of his jacket, drawing the full attention of both brothers. He puts his hand inside his jacket and partly withdraws a thermos, winking at them. Sam bursts out laughing like it’s the best joke _ever_. Dean groans and rolls his eyes. Jesus fucking _Christ_! Total geekiness! No wonder his dorky brother likes him!

Cas straightens up and his facial features become neutral while Sam regains his composure.

"Sure thing. I have a bag of Non Stop to add to that rebellion," Sam grins up at him, getting an answering smile. 

Cas then looks down at Dean, squinting slightly. "If you would like to join us your company would be tolerable," he says. "At least on the eyes," he adds as an afterthought.

"For _fuck_ sake, Cas! Fucking Hell!!" Dean snaps irritably and scowls.

"Though, on second thought, earplugs might prove an unpleasant necessity," Cas muses, a tiny frown forming a thin line between his eyebrows. Sam, the fucking traitor, snorts a small laugh, hides his smile behind a hand and looks down when Dean glares at him.

"That's it. I'm out. I'll go pay for the coffee and you girls can go play at the library without me," Dean says and gets up without looking at the pair.

He makes his way to the counter. He can faintly hear Sam and Cas talking behind him while Sam puts his winter clothes on.

"Dude, _did you just flirt with my brother_?"

" _Sam, I just told your brother I could stand to look at him, but not to hear him speak. If that counts as flirting in this part of the world..._ "

The bell above the front door signals the departure of his brother and his new Angel friend, cutting their conversation off from Dean. He snorts derisively. Earplugs. Fucking blue-eyed douchebag!

* * *

**RESEARCH**

* * *

Come Monday the new training schedule will be implemented. Except for Monday/Tuesday it leaves much to be desired for the youth divisions of the teams but that can't be helped. Both teams will be allowed full access to the adjacent gym at all times. The public have to make do with the lake if they want to skate until the Free Will ice hall has been rebuilt.

  * Monday - Free Will all day
  * Tuesday - Angels all day
  * Wednesday - Free Will before 3 PM /Angels after 3 PM
  * Thursday - Free Will before 3 PM /Angels after 3 PM
  * Friday - Angels before 3 PM /Free Will after 3 PM
  * Saturday - Free Will before 3 PM /Angels after 3 PM
  * Sunday - Free Will before 3 PM /Angels after 3 PM



The schedule isn’t ideal, so everybody wants to see the ice hall rebuilt asap. To help to get the funds for the rebuild, the Angels HC suggests they play a pre-season game and let all earnings from both teams go to that cause. The season will start in two weeks, so the game is set to be played next Saturday at 19:00. This means that except for ordinary practice, both teams are also obligated to do interviews and photo shoots for the three newspapers of the twin towns. The Twin Town Tribune, Angel Falls Daily and Freeville Gazette. It’s mostly to promote the game and its cause, but also to reintroduce the teams to their respective towns, considering there are some changes to the lineup of both teams since last season. Also, the Twin Town Tribune wants to do a four-page spread of the two teams' stars. Judging him solely on his practise performance, his teammates have dubbed Castiel as their star player, which means he'll be doing a photo shoot after Dean in a couple of hours.

Dean might be a 'roll with the punches' kind of guy, but when it comes to competitive matters―Castiel certainly is _not_. He spends his whole morning researching Dean. He looks for any private information he can dig up, all hockey stats, and YouTube clips there is to find. There are _a lot!_ Dean’s a natural. But his greatest strength is also Castiel's greatest weakness. Dean’s greatest strength is how he uses his stick, and his puck control. Castiel finds it a bit challenging to keep track of his stick and often opts for using the blades of his skates to propel the puck forward. Skating with props is _hard_. Yes, he’s good at it, but compared to many of the other players, he’s mediocre. He makes up for it with his inventive skating moves, and right now he’s very glad he decided to research. Had he not done so, Dean Winchester might have made a fool of him. Now, though, he has designed a strategy to counter for his shortcomings.

A single knock on the door announces Lucifer, who doesn’t wait for an invitation. He just steps right in and does a quick overview of Castiel's room, noting the prints of old magazine articles, stats, and a large photo of Dean's smiling face. Castiel leans back from the screen with a YouTube compilation of all of Dean's goals last season and arches a questioning eyebrow at his Captain.

"Foresee any problems?" Lucifer asks.

"None, Cap. He _is_ good, and his style differs a lot from my own, but I am certain this will work to my advantage."

"Mh." Lucifer's tone is disinterested. Instead, he picks up the photo quality print of Dean smiling. "This one really necessary?" he asks and quirks an eyebrow at Castiel.

"Yes." Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t offer any explanation.

Lucifer chuckles. "You like to... visualize?" he hazards with a teasing smile.

Castiel doesn’t answer. Just waits with a neutral expression until Lucifer rolls his eyes.

"Fine. I came here to invite you up for a beer in my room tonight at 22:00. There'll be just a few of us." 

"Drinking is against the rules," Castiel states.

"So is sneaking out in the middle of the night," Lucifer counters with a slight smile. Fuck. So he _had_ been spotted the other night? Well then.

"Point taken. I shall make an appearance as requested."

"Good." Lucifer offers him one of his cold smiles and leaves without any further discussion.

* * *

**THE PHOTO SHOOT**

* * *

After they've applied makeup to Cas, an assistant leads him towards the photo studio.

"So let me get this straight. Not only do you want me to wear these ridiculous black wings, but you want me to do it without any clothes on??"

"Not completely naked of course, Mr. Collins. You'd be wearing a sheet wrapped around your loins."

"A sheet?!? You are kidding me, right? There is no way in Hell I'm agreeing to a nude photo shoot!" Cas protests as the door to the studio swings open. A low chuckle from inside the studio distracts him and makes him look up. He comes to a sudden halt.

Dean Winchester is bare-chested and wiggling back into a pair of blue jeans. He’s still wearing a pair of blood red devil's horns on his head. He’s looking at Cas with a cocky, mocking grin, body way more sculpted than Cas would have guessed. He buttons the jeans and grabs a plaid shirt that he puts on but leaves open and then he― _Oh Lord!_ ―swaggers over to Cas like he owns the place. Cas swallows thickly, suddenly feeling less than confident.

"See something you like, wing boy?" Dean taunts with a lopsided grin. "It's okay, you can say it. I _know_ I look good."

"Screw you, Winchester," Cas blurts and glares. Had he been staring? Shit, he had. And Dean caught him at it. Or had he? Maybe he’s just this conceited all the time. 

Dean chuckles throatily, meeting Castiel's glare with a rise of an eyebrow. "If the shrimp wants to keep his clothes on to seem more buff, just let him!" Dean calls out to the photographer without taking his eyes off Cas. Smile playing teasingly on his lips, tip of the tongue resting against his teeth. He winks cheekily.

Cas schools his face into neutrality. "It's a matter of decency, Winchester, not the amount of muscle mass I have, that makes me reluctant to flaunt my body in the papers. But I can assure you - Anything you can do, I can do better," he says with a clipped voice.

Dean just laughs and pats him on the shoulder before walking out of the studio, leaving Cas with a "Whatever you say, _Flyboy._ " 

Cas can't hang on to his neutrality for many seconds after the door has closed behind Dean. He’s out of his shirt and stepping out of his jeans in no time. Donning the black angel wings, wrapping the sheet loosely around his waist showing off the V of his hipbones. Rummaging through a crate with props. He’s seething. They want to do the heaven/hell theme? Fine! Dean went all seductive bloody incubus? Well, in that case, Cas will give them full out warrior of God! He finds a sword prop and positions himself against the white screen, feet spread wide apart, shoulders squared, gripping the sword tightly, lips in a thin line, head tilted slightly downward but eyes glaring at the camera from under his eyebrows. Both the assistant and photographer had kept quiet since Dean left and seeing the assistants fearful eyes, he wonders how furious he actually looks. It doesn’t matter. The photographer rolls with it, snapping away with his camera, giving instructions but mostly letting Cas do his thing. This is not something new to Cas. (Well, apart from the lack of clothing.) Posing for photos had been a necessary part of stardom as a figure skater, and later as a hockey player back in Sweden. He changes pose ever so often, slowly getting a grip on his temper again. He can’t figure out why he'd felt so provoked when Dean called him a shrimp. He hadn't cared a bit when Benny did it. Better try to get a grip on why the other man pulls his triggers. Otherwise, it could affect his performance on the ice, and he doesn’t want _that_ to happen. The least he can do is try to deflect it back towards the older Winchester....

* * *


	5. Welcome to the Garrison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and some of the guys welcome Cas and Dean "helps" Cas with his shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**WELCOME TO THE GARRISON**

* * *

Cas takes the final steps up to Lucifer's attic loft and knocks on the door. He hears faint music spilling out from within. Then Lucifer opens to admit him.

"Cassie, you made it," his captain says with a little smirk and hands him a bottle of beer.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Cas replies with a small smile of his own and clinks their bottles together before taking a swig of the cool liquid. It's not really as if Lucifer had given him a choice in the matter.

"Come in and make yourself at home."

Lucifer's loft is huge and oblong, lacking windows but warmly lit. Basically, it’s a full apartment while the rest of the team live in single rooms. Even their Coach Raphael lives in smaller quarters than this, which is an interesting fact quickly stored in Cas' brain. Lucifer even has his own bathroom next to the entrance. Lucky bugger. Cas is quick to correct himself. It's very doubtful luck has anything to do with it. The entrance opens up to a section that functions as a living room. Two couches opposite each other on either side of a coffee table, a couple of armchairs, all of which look very comfortable. Bookshelves line the walls. There's no television. It's a room for entertaining people. Right now there's a couple of other team members here. Balt, Uriel, Gadreel, and Samandriel. Basically their first line. Cas, Lucifer, and Balt are forwards, Uriel and Gadreel defencemen, and Samandriel their goaltender. Samandriel’s nickname is Alfie. How that came to be, utterly eludes Cas. They are not alone in the room. There's a couple of pretty girls, and a beautiful young man is also present. Balt sits on one of the couches with the guy and one of the girls practically on his lap, arms slung around their waists. He reminds Cas briefly of Captain Jack Harkness, as a memory of marathoning Dr.Who in a shitty B&B in Hastings, UK, drifts through his mind.

He follows Lucifer in and is cheerfully greeted by teammates and their company alike. Cas sits down on the couch beside Balt and his two... well whatever they are. Uriel sits in the armchair next to Cas and clinks his bottle to Cas'.

"We wanted to throw you a little welcome to the Garrison party, so welcome to the Garrison!" Uriel says and smiles broadly at him while the other chime in a "Welcome!" It makes Cas heart flutter a little. He’s moved that they did this for him and he grins, thanking them. But then his brain catches up.

"The Garrison?" he asks.

"The name of the house," Uriel explains. "You didn't know?"

Cas shakes his head.

"I don't know who came up with it. As far as I know, it's been called that as long as the team has been in possession of the house. Something to do with the hosts of Heaven, God's army and all that," Gadreel furthers the explanation and Cas inclines his head.

"Seems reasonable enough," he says. He relaxes and chats for a bit before curiosity takes over and he gets up to explore the apartment. After all, Lucifer told him to make himself at home, didn't he? He examines the titles in the bookcases. They follow no specific pattern at all. There's Harlequin novels, classics, fairy tales, fantasy, horror, biographies. Books about animals, anatomy, engines, economy, weapons, religion. Some things make him snort in amusement. Hitler's _Mein Kampf_ is squeezed between books about Gandhi and Dalai Lama for instance. Not all books are in English either. He wonders if Lucifer actually has read all the books or just randomly bought them by the crate from second-hand bookstores.

The door to the next room is open and he wanders through it. A spark of excitement ignites in his stomach as he stops in the doorway and takes in the sight. It's an office. File cabinets and bookcases with binders. All marked with team names, sometimes with individual player names or just 'Tactic'. A closed door on the opposite side of the room. Two desks with a whiteboard overhead by each wall. Both with modern looking computers and printers on them. One desk is devoid of anything else on it except for the computer and lamp. The other is somewhat cluttered. Pens, writing pads, a couple of manila folders marked with names spread out on the tabletop. One of them catches his eye as it's marked with his name. He goes to pick it up. There are tabs. 'Career history', 'injuries', and 'personal'. He skims through it. The career tab outlines his journey with his old team. Analysis, stats, important turning points. Under injuries there isn't much. Just notes of games he's played where he has taken some blows. Nothing he had to rest for, though, and he's surprised his captain even bothered to take note of it. The personal tab is empty. He puts the file down on the table, leaving it open, and looks up at the whiteboard above.

There's gameplay offence tactics drawn on it and two photos attached with magnets. One photo is of a much younger Sam Winchester. The other photo depicts Lucifer with his arm slung around the shoulder of another man with dark hair. The photo has captured them mid-laugh, carefree. They look happy. There's nothing cold in Lucifer's eyes. Cas reaches out and touches the photo lightly just as Balt enters the room.

"There you are, Darling! I was beginning to think you had escaped!"

"Who is this?" Cas asks.

"That's Michael," Balt answers, expression becoming troubled and he throws a glance back to the living room.

"The former Captain?"

"Yes but we don't talk about him."

"What's the story?" Cas prods, ignoring Balt's prompt not to. Balt seems to hesitate a beat before answering.

"Michael Filiusdei and Lucifer Morningstar came here together. They were inseparable, best friends you'd ever seen. Michael made Captain and Lucifer was his General, backing him in everything... Until he didn't. No one knows what happened, but one day they had a major fight. Sweetheart, you should be aware that when I say major I mean it in all caps - ' _MAJOR_ '!" Balt talks hushedly, rushing the words as if he wants them out as fast as possible. He keeps darting glances to the living room to make sure Lucifer’s still sitting with his back towards them. "What they fought about is a mystery, but everything changed after that. They disagreed on everything. The team got divided between those who backed Michael and those who backed Lucifer. There were a few that tried to remain neutral, but with two leaders that strong, it's next to impossible. Michael left after last season, took an offer from a club in ChHL. Things have settled down since then and we don't talk or ask about it because doing so, will enrage our esteemed Captain. I'm just telling you so you don't put your foot in."

"That's very thoughtful of you and I extend my gratitude," Cas offers with a small smile. He looks at the picture on the whiteboard for a moment before turning away from it, facing Balt full on, looking at him with a small squint and his head tilted a little.

Balt's posture changes and he is much more relaxed once again now that they have left the vitriolic topic. His eyes sparkle with mirth. "You know, Darling, you remind me so much of our Captain, you could be brothers! No wonder he took to you so fast," he says. Cas answers by raising his eyebrows in question.

"You're both so often just silently studying the world around you. You look at people like you drill holes into their brains, examining their souls, and I can't figure out what you do with the information you gather. Always with the poker faces," Balt answers his silent prompt for an explanation, grinning widely.

"I consider it a compliment and an honour that you think of me and Lucifer in the context of brothers. He is a great man," Cas says, returning Balt's grin with a warm smile of his own, feeling a bit shy.

Suddenly a warm hand comes down on both their shoulders and Balthazar startles. Lucifer has quietly appeared at their side. Cas is glad he didn't flinch himself. He wonders how much of the conversation Lucifer overheard.

"Captain, your ability to teleport is uncanny!" Balt exclaims and fans himself with a hand. "You should wear a cowbell. Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I have left my dates alone for too long, as they seem to be paying attention to each other, when they should be paying attention to me." And like that, Balt makes himself scarce.

Lucifer's hand remains on Cas’ shoulder. It's warm and feels comfortable. Cas avoids looking at the pictures on the wall and instead looks down on the folder he had laid open on his Captain's desk, when he looks up again Lucifer is smirking. 

"Care to fill in the blanks for me Cassie?"

Cas is about to answer 'No', but then thinks better of it. He grabs an empty paper from the printer, a pen, and sits down by the desk. Inadvertently shaking Lucifer's hand of his shoulder, instantly missing the human contact and kicking himself mentally for being so starved for it. It reminded him of Father's silent praise when he had done good. He starts to write in a neat orderly handwriting.

  * _Born at Twin Towns General Hospital_
  * _Mother: Naomi Collins_
  * _Raised by single father_
  * _Strict upbringing_
  * _Has travelled a lot_
  * _Speaks and writes several languages_
  * _Likes: Flying, bees, and dancing_



He puts the pen back and proceeds to file it under the 'personal' tab in the manilla folder. He spins around in the chair and looks at Lucifer with a raised eyebrow, squinting slightly. It's a challenge and he wonders if his Captain gets it. If they are as alike as Balt seems to think, he does. Cas wonders if the next time he comes up here and reads his folder―because he will read it―the paper he just filed will still be the only thing under the 'personal' tab, or if Lucifer will take up on his challenge and add to it based on what Cas just wrote. He doesn't dwell on it, instead he says "This is all very impressive, Captain." He indicates the office with an arm gesture. "I do not want to overstep my bounds, but I would be very grateful for a chance to come here to study the teams we are about to come up against this season, and it is evident you have collected a considerable amount of knowledge I very much like to be privy to."

Lucifer looks... amused?

"Should I take it then, as that you research everyone as thoroughly as you did 'the Dean', _hmm_?" he teases.

Oh.

Cas wants to say yes but before he has the chance to answer Lucifer continues. "Because you know, I don't have photo quality printouts of all the players' faces."

An embarrassed flush creeps up on Cas' cheeks and Lucifer laughs. Why on earth is he blushing?! He doesn’t know what possessed him to print that photo in the first place. He shouldn't have. He’s mortified and can't explain why. He frowns and looks away from Lucifer, into the living room where the others sit. His eyes lock on Alfie making out with one of the girls on the couch.

"Aww. Don't be like that, Cassie. I like that you take interest in the upcoming opposition. Most of the guys just leave it to Coach to give us a rundown." Humour still evident in his voice but it is no longer mocking. Cas looks back at him.

"I am very competitive, Captain, and I find the intoxication caused by victory to be more addictive than any other drug I've come across. I can hardly rely solely on other people to hand me freebies. They may fail to deliver," Cas deadpans.

Lucifer laughs again. Then he looks at Cas with a hint of fondness. He seems pleased. A hand comes up to land on Cas shoulder again.

"Well, in that case, you're more than welcome to come here. In fact, I'd appreciate the company. And don't hesitate to give me your input on things. My goal this season is to get the Angels qualified for ChHL. Come." Lucifer gestures for Cas to follow and starts walking towards the closed door opposite the one toward the living room. Cas gets up and follows him through it. It's the bedroom. Not much in it except for a king size bed with two nightstands and on the other wall a bloody _huge_ TV. Lucifer points at it. "I have basically every sports’ channel you can wish for. I TiVo every game aired. From division 2 and up. Plus all International games. Occasionally I will watch foreign leagues too, mostly the finals, though. I keep tabs on what happens in our division, who gets hurt, who seems to be affected by personal issues and so on."

"Huh. You're not one for freebies either then." Cas smiles.

Lucifer's answer is a smirk. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. You, showing up on the doorstep of the Garrison asking to join us would count as a freebie, wouldn't you say?" he winks at Cas.

Cas snorts in amusement and shrugs one shoulder but doesn't disagree. He knows he holds value as a player. Lucifer leads him back and shuts the bedroom door. He points towards the other desk in the office, the empty one.

"You can use that desk when you're here. The drawers are empty and are at your disposal if you wish. Same goes for the whiteboard overhead, put whatever you want there."

"Thank you, Lucifer. This makes me very happy," Cas says in earnest. He’s honoured and a little touched. He's more at home here than he ever was with his old team, in fact, he hasn't felt this at home since he lost Father and Meg. (With one exception, but he refuses to think about it.)

Uriel pokes his head in and wonders why they're hiding in here and then drags them both back in the living room. Cas once again takes a seat next to Balt and his two companions. A new beer is thrust in his hand and a pretty brunette with dimples curls up in his lap to listen to Balt telling one outrageous story after another. It's nice. She smells faintly of soap. Cas puts an arm around her back and absently strokes her shoulder while sipping his beer, enjoying the body heat and the general atmosphere in the room. He zones out a bit, thinking of the desk his Captain offered him to use. He considers what Balt told him about Michael and thinks that maybe that desk used to be his. He ponders the significance of Lucifer's offer, if that really is the case. The girl in his lap breaks him out of his reverie by nuzzling under his jaw, kissing. That's not something he wants. He shoves lightly on her shoulder and shakes his head a little when she looks up at him questioningly. He is frowning but with a little smile to soften the blow. She smiles and shrugs apologetically. Accepting and respecting his wishes she leans back to her original position and Cas resumes his soft caresses of her shoulder, content that she isn't pushing his boundaries. Really nice, indeed. He contemplates if he should ask for her phone number before he leaves, then berates himself for being such a cuddle-slut. He knows he wouldn't call. What's he going to say anyway? ' _Hey random girl whose name I didn't bother to memorize. Wanna come over and sit on my lap when I watch TV and then go away when I get bored and decide to do something else?_ ' That's not going to cut it with most people. And those who'd buy that kind of behaviour certainly aren't worthy of calling in the first place.

* * *

**SUPERMARKET SCENTING**

* * *

Dean and Sam are doing their weekly grocery shopping when Dean spots Cas by the section holding detergents. He's staring at the rows of different brands like they have offended him personally. All squinty and frowning. He steps forward to unscrews a cork, takes a sniff, grimace, puts it back and steps back to his original position. Then he repeats the process with another brand, and another. Each time looking more dejected. He seems unaware Dean has gotten closer until Dean chuckles.

"This is not funny, Dean. The detergent they use at the Garrison is hideous. The scent keeps bothering me," Cas says, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Dean.

"It sure does looks funny to me Cas." Dean smirks.

It happens so fast. Cas turns on his heel and takes three steps towards Dean. All the sudden they're flush up against each other. Cas fists Dean's jacket, leans in and puts his nose under his chin and inhales deeply. Before Dean's brain catches up enough for Dean to shove Cas (or slug him, for that matter) he’s already let go and stepped away, turning his back to Dean and is staring at the detergents intently again. Dean is reeling, heart beating fast. What just happened??

" _What the_ fuck _, Cas?!_ "

"You smell good. What detergent do you use?" Cas asks as if he's talking about the weather and hadn't just _fucking nuzzled_ Dean.

"Hey, you can't just do that!" Dean protests while he smooths out the lapels of his jacket that Cas fisted.

"Do what?" Cas still isn't looking at Dean.

"Go around and randomly fucking sniff people!"

Cas rolls his eyes impatiently and stares at Dean with a deep scowl, as if Dean is being a major annoyance. "It would appear I just did. Now stop being so bothersome and tell me what detergent you use." Cas taps his foot impatiently.

Glaring at Cas Dean steps forward, yanks his brand off the shelf and holds it out to Cas who takes it with a " _Thank you!_ " that sounds more like " _Finally!_ " judging by the tone it's spoken in.

"So what, you gonna ask which After Shave I use next?" Dean sneers, hoping he doesn't sound as off balanced as he feels.

"Don't be silly, Dean, you're not wearing any After Shave," Cas answers with a patient voice, like you'd use with someone that is particularly slow. He then proceeds to rattle off the brands of the shampoo and the deodorant Dean's currently using.

"You're fucking weird!" Dean states, not knowing how else to react.

"It's been said," Cas agrees in a dry tone with a small upward quirk of the corners of his lips. Now Sam rounds the corner of the aisle they're standing in and Cas' face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Hello, Sam! How nice to see you again!"

Sam catches the smaller man in a bear hug. "Hey, Cas! What's up?" he greets.

"Your brother is helping me with my shopping," Cas answers. Sam gives Dean an approving look at which point Dean's had it. He is soo done with this shit.

"Yeah. _Helping_." Heavy sarcasm laden Dean's tone. "I'm gonna go fetch some stuff." Dean turns his back and leaves his brother with Cas, they're already engaging in some enthusiastic conversation about house repairs or some shit. He throws one last look at them over his shoulder before they'll be out of his view. Cas catches his eye and... Did the fucker just _wink_ at him?

* * *


	6. Sunday Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pictures taken at the photo shoot are published in the Twin Town Tribute Sunday Special. This does not pass by unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has fan art! :D I find it so awesome that I've managed to inspire another artist to draw something. Thank you soo much [Iship_lover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iship_lover) for creating [this wonderful piece of art!](http://lucifersam-angel.deviantart.com/art/Destiel-499883438)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  Mentions of past Dean/Lisa Braeden if that counts as a trigger.  
> Mentions of past minor character deaths.  
> Mentions of alcohol abuse and PTSD.  
> Some outsider's POV.  
> Mentions of past assault.

* * *

**THE GARRISON 06:43 AM**

* * *

"Castiel Collins!" Raphael yells, sounding enraged.

Cas throws on sweatpants and a shirt, then scuttles out of his room and into the common room as fast as he can, coming to a halt right in front of his angry coach who holds out the centerfold in front of him.

"What is this supposed to mean?!" Raphael demands.

"You ordered me to do that photo shoot, Coach," Cas answers and stares at a point behind Raphael's ear. Blank expression on his face, standing to attention.

"Yes! But. Not. NAKED! This is abhorrent! Have you no decency or honour at all?!" Team members are coming out of their rooms now with varying degrees of open curiosity or wariness. "You're supposed to represent the team! This is disgraceful!" His eyes are bulging and spit is flying. Castiel tries very hard not to give in to his own curiosity and look at the picture Raphael is waving in front of him.

Balthazar saves him from that effort by trotting up to them and plucking the magazine from Raphael's hand. Looking at it he laughs happily.

"This is absolutely delightful! Darling, you look beautiful! And so does that freewillian hunk by your side!" Balt coos in an appreciative tone and pats Cas on the shoulder without taking his eyes off the magazine. This seems to enrage Raphael to the point of blowing a fuse because his mouth is working but nothing comes out. Balt either is oblivious or just acts that way as he moves off to show the others. Cas hears him chirp " _I wonder if they sell this in poster size?_ " before Raphael finds his words again.

"What are our supporters supposed to think? You make us look like a group of debauched scoundrels! Not professional athletes!" Raphael continues.

"Coach?" Samandriel, their goalie, pipes up about the same time as Lucifer saunters down from the floor above and joins the rest of the team inspecting the centerfold. "Coach, I don't think this will reflect poorly on us," he says then ducks his head shyly when Raphael's head snaps around to glare at him.

" _Really_?" Raphael asks in a dangerously low tone.

"I.. Um. Yeah..." Samandriel stutters and then takes a deep breath to gather courage. "Have you looked at the picture, Coach? I mean, really looked? Winchester obviously is representing decadence and temptation... But Cazzer," he throws a shy smile at Cas before continuing, "he looks every inch an angel. I mean what an angel really is. Wrath of God. Warrior. Strength. Power. The works! He looks ready to smite and that is imagery I for one am not averse to being associated with," he finishes and ducks his head, waiting for the inevitable tongue-lashing.

But before Raphael has any chance to lay into him Lucifer joins the discussion. "I think it's safe to say Alfie here speaks for all of us, _coach_ ," Lucifer says pleasantly but pronounces 'coach' in a way that makes the title sound like a mockery. Faint assent comes from the rest of the team as he strolls up and comes to stand in front of Raphael, locking eyes with him. Raphael's jaw muscles flex furiously but to Castiel's surprise, he is the one to avert his eyes, deferring to Lucifer. That’s interesting. Cas files that tidbit of knowledge to the growing pile of things to examine closer.

"Very well," Raphael says with a tight voice and turns on his heel to stomp off.

Cas lets out a breath he didn't know he's been holding. When their coach is out of sight Lucifer smirks and winks at him before turning to face the rest of the team. "All right, enough dawdling. Gear up guys, it's time for practice!" He announces and Cas and the rest of the team hurry to get ready.

* * *

**LISA BRAEDEN 10:08 AM**

* * *

"Hey Lisa, didn't you use to date 'The Dean'?" Tiffany asks, looking at the centerfold of Twin Towns Tribune Sunday Special she’s been leafing through, as she waits for Lisa to get changed before today's yoga classes at the Freeville gym where Tiffany teaches Zumba and Lisa Braeden yoga.

"I did, yes, but he dumped me to whore around with every other girl on the planet as soon as we started getting serious," she answers a little annoyed and slams the door to her locker shut. "That was two years ago, why are you bringing it up now?"

"Have you seen the Sunday special?" Tiffany asks with a raised eyebrow and giggles. As Lisa shakes her head Tiffany turns the magazine over so she can see the centerfold for herself. "If you're over him, I wouldn't mind having a go at that!"

Somebody has done an outstanding job editing the photos taken this week, making it appear like Cas and Dean posed with each other because on the left page Castiel stands tall with his chest puffed out and shoulders drawn back, feet wide spread, wings flared behind him, clenched fists and silver sword, hair wild, head slightly bowed and glaring to his right. White sheet loosely covering his groin and twined around one of his legs down to the floor where it twists together with the blood red sheet that’s covering Dean's groin in a similar manner. Dean stands to the right in a nonchalant, relaxed pose, resting his weight on one leg and the other pointing towards Cas. One eyebrow quirked in a challenge, looking to his left, flirty smirk, playing with a cherry between his lips. Devil's horns adorn his head and a trident is loosely gripped in his right hand, prongs touching the floor. They seem for all the world to be looking at each other, Cas right wing partly hidden by Dean. Underneath the pair, bold letters said 'Divine justice VS Devil may care'.

Lisa meant to scoff but what comes out is "Woah!"

"Yeah exactly! This belongs in Playgirl if you ask me!" Tiffany grins enthusiastically. "Dean looks freaking edible!"

"Enough about Dean, who's the other guy?" Lisa asks, ripping the magazine out of Tiffany's hands to look closer at the centerfold. She would never admit to it, but it still hurts a bit every time she sees Dean, in real life or photos. They’d dated for months and been really serious too, until Lisa had mentioned wanting to get engaged and have a child, to which Dean responded by dropping her like a hot stone and never call again. This picture really captures his personality. Come to think of it, that was how he always used to be―flirty, sarcastic, making jokes, deflecting. She probably never really got as close to him as she thought. She’d been so sure he had been as in love with her as she was in him. But, apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Trying not to focus on him she looks at the enraged Angel at his side. More slender, but still broad-shouldered and muscular―grace rather than brute strength. He looks badass, and very fine indeed!

"Don't bother with him, he's an Angel player!" Tiffany chides. She belongs to the hardcore Freevillians who sneer at anyone from Angel Falls. Lisa isn’t that conservative. But judging by the animosity in this picture maybe luring the Angel out on a date would irk Dean enough to come back. She’s had worse ideas in the past, and if it doesn’t work, _weeeelll_. The Angel looks quite scrumptious in his own right and Lisa had always liked bad boys. That's why she fell for Dean in the first place. Maybe she could hook up with this guy, and if that annoyed Dean it would be a bonus, right? She ignores Tiffany's protests and turns the page. One page is info about Dean and the other about Castiel 'Cazzer' Collins, the newest star of the Angels. Well, well. Can't blame a girl for trying, now can you?

* * *

**SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTER 11:56 AM**

* * *

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Dean's yelling to the insistent doorbell ringer. He passes the living room where Sam lies on the couch watching TV, not at all bothering with opening the door. Dean sends a glare his way and mutters "Bitch," just to get the customary "Jerk," in reply. He reaches the door and opens it with an annoyed "What?"

"Um... De-delivery for a Mr. Winchester?" the nervous delivery boy says holding out a long cardboard roll.

"Which Winchester?" Dean asks.

"It doesn't say. Are you Winchester?" the boy asks hopefully now that Dean has piped down his level of annoyance slightly.

"Yes," Dean answers, looking down at the nervous boy. The boy perks up at that.

"Then it's for you! Just sign here...." Dean takes the receipt pad with its attached pen from the boy and signs. He trades it for the mysterious cardboard roll and more or less slams the door in the boy's face.

"What is it?" Sam asks, suddenly curious.

"I don't know," Dean answers and plops down on the couch as soon as Sam retracts his legs to make room for him. "Let's find out!" There's a text written on the cardboard. ' **SOON THE HEAVENLY HOST IS UPON YOU** ' it says. Sam scoots closer when Dean opens it and pulls out a poster. He unrolls it and both Winchesters burst into laughter.

"Oh man! This is _so_ going up on my wall!" Dean exclaims and both brothers laugh heartily again. Dean is more than a little pleased with his own image. He never had any problem taking his clothes off, camera or no camera. He knows he looks good and somehow his confidence is always boosted to higher levels when he undresses. Probably because he knows what effect he has on people. He didn't think Cas would do it, though. Not with his protests while entering the studio. So Dean draws the conclusion that he has gotten to Cas and it feels good to have given the Angel a mindfuck. A major one judging by how utterly _pissed off_ he looks. Serves him right after his comments at the coffee shop and the stunt he pulled at the supermarket. This is definitely a motivational poster if he ever saw one! And _holy fuck_ does Cas' eyes burn bluer than ever when he’s mad! Better not dwell on that. That’s not the reason he’s going to put this poster on his wall. Definitely not. Nope. Not _at all_.

* * *

**CAS AND LUCIFER 12:46 PM**

* * *

Cas stumbles into his room after practice and collapses onto his bed with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes instantly. Their Coach had not shown up after the showdown this morning but Lucifer had drilled them mercilessly. It’s clear that they are _his_ team and he will accept nothing less than perfection. He’s a true general and Cas appreciates that about him. But right now he just wants to shut the world out and ride out the trembling aftermath of lactic acid in his veins. Bone tired, wanting to sleep, he envies Balt that for some reason had been absent during practice today.

He removes his arm, opens his eyes and jerks back in shock. On the wall opposite his bed someone has taped up a big poster of what must be the centerfold that caused the commotion this morning. He hasn't actually seen the photo himself until now, and now he's staring at the image of himself with something akin to horror. The assistant's frightened expression during the shoot is suddenly not very surprising. While he vaguely understands his teammates' interpretation of his appearance, warrior of God is not the association _he_ makes. Last time he saw himself looking like that was in the cracked mirror in a nightclub toilet in Helsinki. But then his face had been covered with another man's blood and his knuckles beaten raw against said man's flesh and bones. The bass in the nightclub had been pumping so loudly it swallowed the screams he had caused until unconsciousness had overtaken the man, finally silencing him. His actions back then were anything but holy. This isn’t a side of himself he wishes to bring here, to his new home and new friends.

Cas moves to rip the poster down but stops in a sitting position when his eyes fall on the man beside him on the picture. The man that had caused his temper to flare in the first place. Green eyes sparkling teasingly, ripe cherry between his teeth and the tip of his tongue visible behind it. Smirking. _Bloody smirking_. Right. He’d gotten to Cas for some reason, and it could not be allowed to happen again. Cas sinks back on the bed, one hand on the pillow behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. His eyes trail over his opponent's body, looking for tell tales of weakness like old scars, finding none. On the other hand, the picture has been photoshopped. Cas himself has the faint outline of a halo for God sake! Dean has a tattoo high up on his left pectoral that keeps drawing Cas' gaze. A pentacle surrounded by the sunburst symbol for awakening. Cas recognizes the tattoo as a symbol for warding off evil spirits or demons. It’s kind of ironic considering Dean's attire and it entices an amused snort from Cas. He decides to keep the poster up to remind himself not to let Winchester get to him again.

A knock on the door draws him from his musings about Winchester physique and he looks towards the door just as it opens to admit Lucifer. His Captain saunters in as if he owns the place, not bothering waiting for an invite. It doesn't bother Cas. Father used to do that all the time. Privacy is a place inside his mind, not a physical location. Lucifer comes to a halt in the middle of the room, hands in his front pockets, confident and relaxed posture. He looks at Cas for a while, then at the poster on the wall. He doesn’t say anything, just takes in the scene, face unreadable as usual. Finally, he looks back at Cas and speaks.

"How do you feel?"

Cas snorts and closes his eyes again, feeling every ache from today's gruelling practise session. "Luci, if you wanted me dead it would have been easier and less torturous to hand me a gun and order me to shoot myself!" The nickname is out before he can stop himself, but suddenly he remembers the warning death glare Lucifer sent another team member for calling him that. The fear he seems to instil in people. How nervous Balt had been talking about Michael. But Cas doesn't take it back or apologize. 

That isn’t what Lucifer reacts to, though. "Would you?" he asks instead, curiosity lacing his tone.

"I'd rather empty the magazine in anyone who wished for my demise in the first place," he answers, instantly regretting it, but keeping his eyes closed not to show it.

Lucifer just 'hmms' as if contemplating the answer for a beat, then inquisitively adds; " _Could_ you?"

Now that makes Cas open his eyes and look at his Captain who’s studying him curiously, speculative. Cas is certainly not going to answer that. It's ridiculous and off topic. He meets silence with silence, gaze in steady lock with Lucifer's and just waits. He doesn't know what Luci sees in him but an ever so subtle shift in his demeanor makes Cas think he is pleased with what he sees. Then Lucifer becomes more animated, jerking his head indicating the poster while still looking at Cas but now looking far less calculating.

"I came to talk to you about that. Give you a heads up," he says and plops himself down on Cas' desk chair. Cas sits up on the bed, putting his feet on the floor and looks expectantly at Luci as an encouragement for him to go on. "You came here during pre-season but now shit is about to get real. Once the season starts things around here can get a bit insane at times. I'm pretty sure it got a jump start today," his Captain says, a small smirk gracing his lips. Cas bows his head slightly to concede to the point. "I know you played in a fairly known team in Sweden, so you may have gotten a taste of what it's like to be famous already, but I still want you to be prepared for it. Not only the crazy devotion from supporters, though. We meet with a lot of hostility when we cross the bridges into Freeville and it can get pretty intense and downright dangerous at times. Especially during derby game days," Luci continues.

"Don't worry, I can defend myself," Cas answers with a small smile.

"I'm sure you can," Lucifer says derisively with a smirk and throws a pointed look at Cas’ expression on the poster.

"Don't be afraid, Luci. I'll protect you too," Cas japes, grinning. He says it as a joke but realizes that he means it as soon as it's out of his mouth.

Lucifer chuckles and apparently picks up on Cas' sincerity because there's warmth in his eyes when he looks at him now. Cas finds himself responding to that, his grin softening to a smile.

"Yes. I think you will, Cassie," Luci says a bit thoughtfully and nods to himself. Then he slaps his thighs and get's up. He smirks, throws Cas a salute and saunters out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
Cas lies back down when the door closes. He feels quite good now, despite the aches in his body. He likes Luci and he is positive it's reciprocated. He thinks the Captain and he could become really close friends given time. And with that warm thought, he goes back to studying Devil-Dean on the poster. Studying, not _ogling_ , mind you!

* * *

**BOBBY SINGER 14:32 PM**

* * *

Bobby opens the magazine to the centerfold. He stares at it and mutters "Idjits!" Then he rips it out and tapes it on the wall inside the repair shop, along with all the other clippings he’s gathered of Sam and Dean over the years. His chest always feels warm when he looks at the wall. It makes him glad to think of how far the boys have come since all the crap that went down with their father.

Bobby and John Winchester served together in the marines, fast becoming best friends. While Bobby was wounded early on and sent home, John had stayed behind in the war zone. John never talked about what happened after Bobby left. John survived when his whole squad was wiped out and he got captured instead. He was a prisoner of war for months before he was rescued, but by then something was broken in him. He was honourably discharged when it was clear that he no longer had the mental capability to function as a soldier. He came home with the worst case of PTSD Bobby's ever seen. His friend had died and a shell of a man returned in his stead, trying to drown out his nightmares and flashbacks with booze. After his wife Mary died in a home accident, things got even worse and the two small boys, 2 and 6 years old at the time, had taken the brunt of it. It came as a relief when John died in a fire caused by smoking in bed 10 years later.

Bobby loves the Winchester boys as if they were his own sons. He always tried to do his best by them when John was alive and welcomed them with open arms to his home after the fire. He thanked the Gods above the boys hadn’t been at home during the fire. Sam had been hospitalized from a bad fall climbing trees at the time, and Dean had been at his bedside. Gabriel, Dean's coach, had also been a great support during that time, for which Bobby is grateful. Between the care of the two of them, the boys had not only managed to stay out of trouble, but thrived. The wall with all the clippings is a testament to that. Even if some of the clippings, like the latest addition of the centerfold, are less than tasteful in Bobby's eyes.

* * *

**THE ROADHOUSE 17:12 PM**

* * *

"Where did you get that Jo?" Ellen asks.

"They sold these in the magazine store!" Jo chirps happily.

"All right. Let's hang the poster opposite the entrance!" Ellen answers equally amused. It might not be the most proper poster but it still blends in as the walls of the pool section of the Roadhouse is covered by scantily clad women straddling bikes along with framed photos of Team Free Will. It's about time the women frequenting the Roadhouse got some eye candy too.

* * *

**23:59**

* * *

By nighttime the Twin Town Tribune Sunday Special has not only sold out, but the posters printed early morning have sold like butter too. As for how the posters came to be in the first place... _Weeell_. Balthazar has to plead guilty to that one. As soon as the idea popped into his head he went off to make a couple of phone calls to past liaisons (because Balt was a 'love-em'-and-keep-their-number-forever-because-you-never-know-when-you're-gonna-need-it' kind of guy), pulling a few strings. Before Raphael was finished preaching about decency to Castiel, big posters were already being printed. Balt’s very persuasive. His suave English charm and outgoing personality put people at ease, and more often than not he gets his way. (Although, it does tend to land him in trouble frequently too.) A few posters were express delivered to Balt himself. One he sent to the Winchester brothers as a taunt and the rest were shipped to the stores selling the Twin Town Tribune. His idea was to let the posters pay for their own production cost and the excess earnings to go straight to the rebuilding of the Free Will ice hall. The cause for selling the posters was in the end what kept him out of trouble this time around as the folks of twin towns would leap at any chance to―depending on which side of the river they came from―help their team or scour their own ice hall from the unwanted team. Because of it, no legal repercussions landed at Balt’s feet. By the end of the day the first edition of the posters had sold out and a second edition was churning out from the printers. This was also the ultimate death to any kind of anonymity Castiel might have previously been graced with, now being―quite literally―the new poster boy for the Angels.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a plot reason for why I'm using outsiders' POV so I hope you're not too bothered by it. 
> 
> Oh, and as usual - please do comment. :) It's very inspiring.


	7. Texts and Taunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is not a morning person, Sam has nightmares and Cas get's very cocky before a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for this chapter:  
> Implied drunk driving.  
> Child abuse  
> PTSD  
> mixed substance abuse  
> graphic description of violence
> 
> Hell, beware of the trigger warning for what I mentioned above. I've experienced similar things to the last scene of what Sam's dreaming of and it was friggin' hard for me to write. Thankfully my experience was not from a child's POV and no children were present when scenes akin to that played out in my life. Nor was the results quite as violent as I sought shelter in time, but I'm telling you, PTSD is not child's play at its worst. It's a thin line to walk to know when to stay and comfort and when to get the fuck out of there. My advice - when alcohol is mixed with anti-anxiety medicines - make yourself scarce.
> 
> Next chapter after this will be the game btw.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THE INTERVIEW**

* * *

Interviews are boring and tedious. The game day is closing in and the local television morning show is doing a piece about the teams and the upcoming season. Raphael graciously ' _volunteered_ ' Castiel as a guest. Possibly as a revenge for the centerfold spectacle. Cas isn’t exactly ecstatic about it as he drives his car through dark, snow-covered streets at 3:30 in the morning to get to the studio. 

It had snowed a considerable amount during the evening and then the temperature dropped. He’s glad he had parked his car in a nearby garage, even if it meant an extra five-minute trudge through deep, soft snow, still not cleared away. His fingers stiffened and froze inside his thick gloves and he felt his snot freeze inside his nostrils. He burrowed his chin and nose in deeper under his knitted scarf and cursed himself for forgetting his balaclava in his room. It would have been better to look like a mugger than to lose his face to frostbite. The bugger of a car had been reluctant to start. Sputtering and whining about being taken out for a spin at this ungodly time of night. 

Cas can’t blame the car, he feels the same. His fingers hurt when they start to thaw once the heat inside starts to replace the cold. Driving is no easy feat in this weather. Most streets haven't been ploughed yet, though he passes a few snow ploughs working furiously to clear the streets before people wake up and have to go to work. As he drives, he daydreams of another set of winter roads in Sweden. A racetrack snaking its way through vast pine forests in Dalecarlia. He reminisces the feeling of flying that he got driving his Mitsubishi Racing Lancer at full speed through the snowy terrain. But she’s gone now. He’d opted not to bring her. He regrets that. Musings about buying a new car fit for rally takes up most of his mind during the drive.

The studio at least has a heated garage. As soon as he’s parked he spots her. _The_ car. It can’t be any other car than the one from the lake, could it? A big black Impala '67. It ignites a spark of excitement in him. But he’s running late due to the weather so he doesn’t have time to explore. 

Inside he’s rushed to the makeup girls. They're evil. Must be. Cas hates makeup. It itches, dries up his skin more than the cold, and he doesn’t like the scent. It feels like a small revenge that they have to fight so hard to hide the dark rings under his eyes. Next up is fixing his hair. They try to comb it down to something neat and orderly. He swats their hands away and runs his hands through his hair, pushing it up in a deliberate bedhead. The hairdresser catches on and goes to work according to the wish he just indicated. She, at least, isn't evil. He hardly utters a word through the whole process, not a morning person by nature. The coffee he’s offered is bloody decaf. By all the gods above and below, what was the person who came up with _that_ idea thinking?! He changes clothes. Black slacks, black button up shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, red tie, grey waistcoat. He lets the sound technicians tug and pull while attaching a microphone and hiding the equipment behind his back. His spot is 4:45. He’s told that ' _The Dean_ ' is on 4:15. Figures. He watches the interview through monitors lacking sound while they prepared him. Winchester is all charm and flirt, making the female co-host blush a number of times and the male host laugh frequently. The simple dress of black jeans and a white button-down open in the collar does nothing to tone down his magnetic charisma. Cas is resentful. Nobody should look that good after having to get up this early in the morning. The screen behind the scene reads ' _The Devil you know_ '. Then the picture from the Sunday Special is shown on the screen and Cas turns away from the monitor. Lucifer said he'd TiVo the whole show anyway.

He meets Dean when he comes off stage, grinning brightly when he spots Cas standing in the lounge staring into his half empty cup of coffee.

"Heey, Angel! All dolled up for your interview, huh?"

"There must be some natural law you're breaking by looking so fresh and perfect after rising so early in the morning," Cas mutters and glares darkly at him.

Dean responds by throwing an arm around Castiel's shoulders and leaning in. Loudly he whispers "You know, Angel, the secret is not to go to bed to begin with!" Then he chuckles. Dean's breath against Cas' ear makes the hair on Cas’ neck and arms prickle. The arm around his shoulder is warm and Dean's scent is tinged by alcohol barely covered by mint from his chewing gum.

"Are you drunk?"

"Naaah! Tipsy at best. Something I plan to remedy when I get out of here." Dean winks and grins like a Cheshire cat. Cas envies the carefree demeanor. It makes him feel even more tired. His shoulders sag and he must look even more grumpy because Dean speaks up again. "Hey! Perk up, fly boy! It ain't _that_ bad."

Cas fixed him with a dark, pointed stare. "Dean. They gave me _decaf_!"

Dean throws his head back laughing, his whole body arching with it. He removes his arm from Cas' shoulders.

"I'm glad you find my peril so utterly entertaining," Cas grouses in a dry voice, not at all amused.

Dean collects himself somewhat, still chuckling. He gets an idea. You can actually see the light bulb turn on above his head, cartoon style. He turns so he comes face to face with Cas, fishes out a metal flask from his back pocket and pours what looks like whiskey in Cas' coffee cup, filling it to the brim, diluting the coffee inside to the colour of dark tea. "Here ya go, wing boy. This will perk you right up," he states with a cheeky grin and looks at Cas challengingly, expectantly. Cas stares blankly into his cup. 

Seconds tick by without Cas' giving any reaction. But when Dean shifts, his posture turns mocking, grin turns to a smirk, Cas suddenly raises the cup to his mouth and downs all its content in one long go. 

Dean laughs again but this time in disbelief. "Shit, Cas. You just can't be predicted, can you?"

Cas schools his face to remain neutral, keeping the smile that tries to tug at his lips at bay. He holds out his cup towards Dean and raises an eyebrow. Dean keeps looking at his face, refilling the cup with the last content of his flask before putting it away. Cas downs that too, feels the warmth of the alcohol pumping into his system. Then they are just looking at each other. Dean's eyes are green, a hint of hazel at the middle. Framed by long lashes. His mouth is slightly open, no longer smiling, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Freckles. Hair artfully tousled. A faint blush on his cheeks. Must be the alcohol. Must be, because Cas feels his own cheeks heat up, definitely from the alcohol, _right_? Right. The concept of time is momentarily lost on Cas. He wouldn't know if they just look at each other for seconds or minutes. Dean swallows. And swallows again. His eyebrows raise slightly. Freckles. Green. Cas' mouth is dry. 

A technician pokes his head into the lounge and announces that Cas is on in three minutes and the moment is broken. Dean smirks and winks at Cas. Pats him on the cheek hard, more like light slaps, and walks away laughing quietly to himself. Shit. What in bloody Hell just happened?

Cas doesn’t dwell on it. When he enters the stage he's introduced as the 'Angel in the centerfold' while the chorus to 'Centerfold' with the J. Geils Band blares in the background. Great. That’s probably going to end up being a thing now. That's what you get for losing your temper. The whiskey does its job, though, and Cas is more relaxed and comfortable than he'd thought he'd be. He is no way near as charming as Winchester, but that’s to be expected. He comes off as somewhat broody and pensive, squinting in the bright studio light. They ask him if he's nervous about going up against' _the Dean_ ' and he smiles broadly at that, telling them it's quite the opposite. He also points out that it's not just Dean he and his team members will face, and proceeds to praise the skill of the other freewillians too. Naming Sam, Benny, and Victor Henriksen by name. He also tells them he is excited about getting a chance to meet 'The Trickster' in person, admitting to being somewhat of a fan. It's not untrue. Then the interview is finally over and he’s free.

To his great disappointment, the Impala is gone when he comes down to the garage. He’d wanted to examine it closer, get the license plate number and see if he could figure out who the owner is. Pondering the identity of his mysterious watcher makes him long to figure skate again. He makes the decision to sneak out tonight for a while to clear his head before the game tomorrow. Then he gets into his car to drive back to the Garrison for some blessed sleep.

* * *

**NIGHTMARES**

* * *

He stands beside his dad by the kitchen table. The room smells of coffee and gun oil. The clock on the wall tick-tocks with a slightly uneven drag. His dad holds a stopwatch.

"Aaaand... Go!"

He watches his 13 year old older brother quickly assemble a semi-automatic rifle.

"Done!"

"Good! Faster than last time!" His dad praises his brother when he stops the watch. "Now take it apart and do it again." His brother goes to work with a concentrated expression. "You're such a good little soldier, Dean." his dad says, pleased.

"Nuh-uh! He's not a soldier dad, he's a worrior!"

His brother does a full body eye roll and emits a long-suffering sigh that only teenage older siblings can muster. "It's called _war-ri-or_ , dumbass! And it's the same thing!" 

"No it's not! A soldier just follows orders, but a warrior thinks for _himself_ ," he argues.

His dad laughs warmly, hugs his shoulders and ruffles his hair. He’s warm and happy inside.

"That's right, son, your brother is a warrior. And he'll always protect you, no matter what."

"Yeah. I'll do that, Sammy. Even if you are a dumbass," his brother agrees with a smirk.

*~~~*~~~* 

He's no longer in the kitchen. He's younger and lying in his bed. The room is dark except for the orange glowing night light in the electric socket. Terrified screams coming from his dad's bedroom woke him up again. When they still he can hear muffled sobbing through the walls. A moment passes by and the door to his dad's bedroom opens, the stairs down to the ground floor creaks. A hard knot twists his stomach and tears sting his eyes as he hears the sound of bottles clinking from the kitchen downstairs, through the vent. His own door slides open and his 11 year old brother silently sneaks in, closing the door carefully behind him. His brother crawls up in the bed and curls himself around him like a shield.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

*~~~*~~~* 

The scene shifts again. They're outside a grocery store, loaded with groceries, walking, when a car suddenly backfires with a loud bang. Their father drops the grocery bags and throws himself to the ground, eyes suddenly wide open but no longer there. He breathes raggedly and trembles. His 9 year old brother rushes to their dad's side yelling "It's just a car dad!" But when he reaches for him dad lashes out and punches his brother, sending him flying, landing hard on the concrete. He doesn't even hear his own cry of "DADDY NO!" He sprints to his brother, throwing his arms around him. His brother sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks while his eye rapidly swells shut, red mark blooming around it. His brother pushes himself up to a sitting position, clinging to him. Their dad's eyes are staring into nothingness. Not there.

Awareness slowly floods back to their father. He’s guilt and horror stricken when the realisation of what he’s done hits him. Dad gets up and moves to comfort, but his brother hastily shoves him behind his back and stares challengingly at their dad. A myriad of emotions flutter across dad’s face as he stops mid-move and looks at the brothers. Pain, sorrow, hurt, anger, bitterness and finally, his expression hardens.

"Don't be such a girl, Dean. Dry your tears and walk it off like a man."

Dean glares angrily, mouth a thin line, jaw muscles flexing furiously. He holds back his sobs and dries his cheeks.

*~~~*~~~* 

Then the scene melts away and it gets darker. He's in the living room and panic flares in his chest. His brother is at hockey practice but needs to be at home precisely now! His stomach is one big ball of knots and he’s fighting to keep tears at bay. Dad paces back and forth in the living room but he isn’t really there. Not seeing again. His eyes are black and he lashes out at furniture or into thin air. Shouting nonsense. There are liquor bottles strewn around the room, mostly empty ones, and there's a medicine container with benzodiazepine on the table. It's supposed to calm his dad's panic attacks down, but he’s been popping those pills all night and combined with the alcohol it has the opposite effect.

"Dad please! Calm down!" He pleads desperately.

Dad spins on his heels and locks his gaze on him, but he's still not seeing him. He's seeing someone else, somewhere else. It never gets less scary.

"Are you threatening me?!" Dad growls.

His face crumbles, lips quivering, fear makes his body go cold all over. "No, dad. _Please_! You're at home! It's just me. Your _son_ ," he begs. But dad's not hearing. He takes two strides towards him. The first punch takes him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Dad twists his arm painfully and something snaps, shooting fiery tendrils up through his arm into the rest of his body. He cries out from the pain and is sent flying through the air. His head slams into the wall, making stars dance in front of his eyes. Then he's hoisted up and strong hands close around his throat, strangling him. He tries to beg but he can't get any air. He scratches feebly at the hands choking him, his pulse beats louder and louder in his ears, his vision shrinks to small pinpoints until it fades to black, only hearing remains. Suddenly there's a loud crash of shattering glass and he can breathe again, gulping down air painfully. His 14 year old older brother is there, throwing a hard punch at their dad’s head, knocking him into the television.

He scrambles away from the fight and up the stairs. In his room he hides his head under the pillow, crying desperately, trying to shut the world out. His throat is sore and his arm throbs painfully. He hears loud crashes and glass shattering. Shouting. He doesn't know how long this goes on. He cries himself empty. It has calmed down, there's just his brother shouting now. He crawls out of bed and sneaks downstairs to see what's going on.

Dad sits by a wall with his eyes scrunched shut, curled into fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking himself back and forth. He repeats "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I'm sorry!" Like a mantra. His brother stands over him and he's _livid_. Rage pours from every cell of his body, eyes black and face red. They're both bruised and bleeding from multiple wounds.

"You fucking shit!" His brother shouts, accentuating his point with a kick to dad's legs. Dad doesn't flinch.

"You're supposed to protect us, protect _Sam_! He's fucking precious! You fucking asshole!" He kicks again.

"He's a child! He's not supposed to deal with this kind of shit! He shouldn't fucking need to!"

Kick. Dad whimpers. It infuriates Dean even more, if possible. He kicks again, harder.

"Never lay hands on Sam again! You hear me?!?"

Kick.

"If you ever, _EVER_ hurt Sam like that again _I. Will. Fucking. Kill. You!_ "

"Do you understand?! I will _kill_ you!"

*~~~*~~~* 

" _Sam. Sammy, wake up!_ "

The living room fades and he’s being shook.

"Hey, Sam. Come on, wake up!"

Sam blinks, momentarily confused before he gets his bearings. He’s in his room in the apartment he shares with his now 24 year old brother, who currently sits on his bed, shaking his shoulders. Sam's cheeks are tear-streaked and his chest feels hollow. He struggles to sit up.

"Dean?"

Dean collects him into an embrace and cradles him to his chest, placing a kiss on the crown on his head, rocking him slowly. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm here. It's okay. You're safe. He's long gone. You're safe."

He draws a shuddering breath, trying to collect himself, burrowing into his brother's hold. "Did I scream this time?"

"Nah. I just heard you sob. Tell you the truth, I was kinda listening for it. I've noticed you tend to get nightmares before a big game," Dean says, smiling softly.

Sam huffs a little laugh. "Yeah. My pre-game nerves are kinda useless, huh?"

"’T’s not that bad. Y' don't get 'em as often as you used to 'neways." Dean speaks softly.

"I should hope so. It's 8 years since he died. Figure they ought to fade sooner or later."

"Mhm."

"I still miss him sometimes. It wasn't _all_ bad."

"No, 'twasn't."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever miss him?"

"No." Dean's answer comes out with a hard edge of finality and he stops his rocking for a beat before he picks it up again. They sit like that for a while in silence, until Sam feels like himself again and extracts himself.

"Thanks, Dean," he says when Dean gets up to leave.

"No problem, bitch." Dean grins.

"Jerk." Sam grins back at him and then rolls over to sleep.

* * *

**TEXTING AND TAUNTING**

* * *

Incoming text message...

**Cas 13:12:** _In case I've greatly misjudged your character and you take tonight's defeat personally enough to end our friendship, I figure it prudent to inform you that I have enjoyed my time spent in your company a great deal, and vastly appreciate your helpful input on my upcoming house repairs._

_Oh... And tell your brother he shouldn't drink before a game. If our victory is made too easy due to him sporting a hangover I will be very disappointed._

**Sam Winchester 13:20:** _LOL Dude! We're going to be the ones to win! And no matter what, I'd still like to help you with the house. I like that kind of physical labour._

_Dean says to tell you he isn't hung over and to ask if you didn't enjoy your coffee? (?)_

**Cas 13:22:** _I would very much like the help, Sam. The extent of my knowledge of DIY matters goes as far as being vaguely aware of which part of a hammer you're supposed to hold on to._

_The coffee was... helpful. Caffeine would have been better though._

_Tell your brother he'd better be prepared, because I am very well rested. My sheets smell so much better with the new detergent. Made me sleep like an angel. ;)_

**Sam Winchester 13:25:** _Am I missing something here? What was that about? I'm not even going to repeat what he's saying right now._

**Cas 13:26:** _It's not of import. Ask your brother._

**Sam Winchester 13:27:** _I did. He says you're weird and won't tell me more than that._

**Sam Winchester 13:27:** _Okay now he's ranting._

**Sam Winchester 13:28:** _I refuse to relay what he wants me to tell you. He's mostly being rude anyway._

**Sam Winchester 13:30:** _He wants your phone number. Can I give it to him?_

**Cas 13:30:** _Only if he sends me selfies._

**Sam Winchester 13:32:** _LOL I don't even know if that was a joke or not._

**Cas 13:34:** _Take it as you will._

_Although I cannot actually in my right mind wish for you to win, I still want to say; good luck tonight._

**Sam Winchester 13:35:** _Yeah. You too. Gotta head out now. Catch you later!_

**Unknown number 13:35:** [Picture attached; Dean holding his hand up to the camera with the 'Fuck you' gesture, kissing his middle finger.]  
` - Contact saved as 'Dean Winchester' -`

**Cas 13:36:** _Goodbye, Sam._

**Cas 13:39:** _I see you put those lips of yours to good use, Dean. It is good practice because you're going to be kissing the ground beneath my feet after tonight._

**Dean Winchester 13:40:** _Fuck you._

**Cas 13:42:** _I think that sentiment was implied already in the picture you sent._

**Dean Winchester 13:43:** _Dude, I'm gonna mess you up so bad tonight you're gonna be crying like a girl!_

**Cas 13:45:** _Crying is not a gender-based occurrence. Any tears of mine will be masculine in their nature whether you cause them or not._

**Dean Winchester 13:46:** _You're fucking weird._

**Cas 13:47:** _I'm only weird to those too mentally underdeveloped to perceive my greatness._

**Dean Winchester 13:48:** _WTF! That'd be the whole of Earth's fucking population!_

**Cas 13:53:** [Picture attached; Cas grinning broadly with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, flipping the bird to the camera]

**Dean Winchester 13:58:** _Really? You're doing that? Oh it's on now, wingboy! It's so on!_

**Cas 13:59:** _;)_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Next up will be the game. :)  
> Oh and as usual - please do comment! ^^


	8. The Game is On!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys are playing each other and Dean and Cas face off on the ice for the first time. Then there's interviews. And some celebrations.
> 
> Oh, and the song that will come to haunt Cas forever is embedded at the bottom of this chapter. Not the original version, but close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, this was hard! I may be in over my head writing a hockey game. I've been reading hockey rules and watching hockey vids now 'til my eyes practically bled.  
> Aaanyway. Any inaccuracies concerning rules and whatnot I'm blaming on artistic freedom. Feel free to point them out though for future reference if they bother you.
> 
> And I might as well point out that the other players in both teams are active and doing their best in the game too. But you won't get to see much of it as I follow Dean and Cas. I've tried to depict their different techniques at the best of my ability. I hope it comes through.
> 
> Also, the song "Freewill" by Ventis is from the album A Day In The Sun and can be found on spotify. (Any song I might reference in this fic can be found on spotify)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THE GAME**

* * *

Cas is amped up and raring to go! He isn’t nervous. There's a flutter in his stomach from excitement. This is what he’s been raised for, what he lives for. To compete. Winning is the only option. He feels a giddy-happy laughter bubble up through his throat and he bites down on it, knee bouncing impatiently as he sits on the bench. His good mood and excitement flow out to the rest of his team. Even Bartholomew Smith, the center for their second line, grins broadly at him. Cas doesn't really like him. Always strict and polite but somehow oily. It doesn't matter now. Soon it's time. Any animosity he feels towards other team members is gone. Now it's just razor-sharp focus and giddiness.

The short text exchange earlier in the day with the Winchesters had done a lot to get him into game mode. It reminds him of his days as a figure skater. He used to exchange taunts with his main rival, Kevin Tran. An immensely talented French/Asian boy. They were what you'd call 'frienemies'. Always jeering and taunting each other with sassy remarks when they competed against each other, but cheering each other on if they weren’t. Cas didn't have friends except for Meg back then. Father didn't approve of it, as it was considered a distraction. But his and Kevin's interactions were tolerated once Father concluded that it spurred Cas on and that he skated much better from it. Giving him that extra edge.

Hockey is so different from figure skating, though. Figure skating is cool calculation, timed precision, memorized movement and patterns, orderly. Hockey is fast-paced and violent, unpredictable and chaotic. A jazz jam session as opposed to a classic piece performed by an orchestra, practised for months.

They’ve warmed up on the ice already and now they're waiting in the locker room. He hears music playing from the speakers and the sound of the crowd. It's a full house today. White apparel sporting their sky-blue and white shield with the stylized dark blue angel, and red apparel with Free Will's hockey puck over three pairs of golden wings, sells like butter in the lobby outside. He knows there are talent scouts from ChHL present and apart from the local media, there's coverage from at least three other sports channels and a couple of magazines. So close to the start of the real season the interest from hockey enthusiasts is high, and a derby game like this always draws attention. He'll do his best to put on a show for them. Just a few more minutes now…

* * *

Dean's nervous. He always is, before a game. Gabriel is giving them a final run down, a pep talk Dean doesn't hear. He hates this moment just before a game is about to start. His stomach is a ball of lead and his heart beats loudly. There's always a moment just before the game is about to start when there's this crushing pressure coming down on him and panic squeezes him to the verge of not being able to breathe. He's not good enough. _He's not good enough_! He can't live up to all the expectations. From his dad, from his teammates, from the supporters, from Sam. It's too much and he's just a sham, all talk and posturing. Hiding behind a cheeky smile and a wink. He wants to run away, curl into someone's arms and be cradled like he cradles Sam when he has bad dreams. Be shielded and protected by someone, be told it's okay, he's okay, and he doesn't have to prove anything to anybody. This happens before _every fucking game_! Once the puck drops, the feeling goes away and he is the star he shines like, once again. Released to freedom and ready to fight. It's exhilarating and furious and fun. His previous moments of self-doubt are forgotten, like they never existed. He just has to hold it together for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes now....

* * *

**FIRST PERIOD**

* * *

**1st period. Time left 20:00**

They take up position. That green-eyed devil smirks confidently at him, flipping his mouthguard in and out of his mouth once. Winks at him. So cocky and sure of himself it almost makes Cas' mood falter for a moment. Bloody Winchester. Cas feels his fighting face slip into place. They line up for the faceoff and turn their attention onto the puck in the referee's hand. The whistle blows, the puck drops and their sticks clacks together. Dean wins the faceoff, passes to Victor and the chase is on.

* * *

Winchester dangles the puck back and forth and Cas just can't get to it. He scrambles for it. It's futile. His blade just clashes with Dean's blade and Dean's shoulder is in the way. Dean scoops up the puck onto his blade and flicks it between Cas' legs, totally deking him out, then captures it again and skates away.

"You manky assbutt!" Cas spits at Dean’s back and follows, Dean's clear laughter leading the way.

* * *

Sam passes to Victor. Back to Sam. Lucifer is on him, they struggle for the puck, Lucifer wins it and passes to Balthazar just as Dean catches up to him. Benny gathers speed and checks Balt violently into the boards causing a two-minute penalty for himself for _Charging_. Powerplay for the Angels.

* * *

**1st period. Time left 15:32 [Powerplay the Angels - Penalty time left 01:03]**

 

Free Will has fallen back and the Angels keep coming on relentlessly. Three shots already that Garth has saved. Now they're in with another charge. Puck goes from Uriel to Balt. From Balt to Cas. Cas evades Dean with a spinning deke, then Victor, by spinning the other way, herding the puck with his skates. Sam's in front of the goal scratching the ice with his blade to get to the puck, shoving Cas and Cas flicks the puck backwards to Lucifer who goes behind the goal and passes the puck back to Cas as he comes round. Cas thwacks the puck towards the goal, Garth saves with his leg but Cas hits on the rebound. Garth grapples after the puck and manages to stop it on the goal line but not get his hand over it. Cas gets his stick between the goalie's legs and nudges the puck in. The signal for goal blares and the crowd cheer.

The speakers play the Angel in the Centerfold song and had Cas not skated around the ice with a huge grin and his hands stretched up in the air in a victory gesture, he would have groaned inwardly. Because there’s no doubt in his mind now. That’s going to be a thing and he thinks he’ll end up hating that song.

He spots Dean standing with the facial expression of a storm cloud, and zooms in on him. Skating close and twirling a little circle around him till he ends up at his back. Cas leans in, almost resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "That one I dedicate to you," he says quietly with a teasing smile, then quickly darts away laughing when Dean swats at him.

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 0 Team Free Will**   
**Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no. 47 Lucifer Morningstar.**

* * *

Benny pins Cas' stick to the ice while effectively trapping one of his skates with his own. The puck is well out of Cas' reach for sure. Dean scrambles for it when Cas suddenly sinks down into a split so deep it'd make any gymnast swoon in envy. He hooks the puck on the inside of his skate and snaps up to standing position again, his puck wielding skate in line behind his other, sending the puck flying away from Dean, behind Benny and straight to Balthazar who instantly turns and skates away with it. The crowd goes wild! _What the fucking Hell_?!? Benny gives Cas a shove and the three of them are off chasing the puck, pumping their legs furiously to catch up.

* * *

Dean's free and the goal is all but open. He raises his blade to shoot when Cas rounds him, sinks down fucking crosslegged while spinning and trapping the puck within the blades of his skates. Taking it with him as he whirls around Dean like a fucking Buddha or something, and rises up again with the puck in front of him, then headmanning the puck towards Free Will's zone. _Jesus fucking Christ in Hell_! What the fucking _FUCK_ was that??!! The Fucker! That's not even hockey for God's sake! _FUCK_!

* * *

**SECOND PERIOD**

* * *

**2nd period. Time left 09:48**

Dean's battling Gadreel for the puck in the Angels’ zone, gets it on his blade and dangles it, momentarily confusing Gadreel. He has a chance for a shot. Alfie looks ready though, covers the corner in Dean's angle so with a flick of Dean's wrist he passes it sideways and backwards towards Victor. Victor makes a perfect wrist shot. _BAM_. Straight in the net!

The speakers blare out the first part of the chorus to Ventis "Freewill" on repeat and the supporters sing along.

_That's why they call it Free Will_  
 _That's why the world don't stand still_

That part of the song has more or less become the theme for Team Free Will since it was released and would be played every time they scored in a home game, supporters would be chanting it when they scored at away games.

Dean and Victor celebrate with a chest bump. 

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 1 Free Will**   
**Goal by no. 07 Victor Henriksen. Assist by no. 13 Dean Winchester.**

* * *

**2nd period. Time left 00:13**

Cas gets a pass from Lucifer just as he crosses the centerline. He shoots a hard slapshot. Garth fails to save and the puck goes straight in the right top corner of the net. The crowd cheers wildly as the signal for goal blares. Cas pumps his fist in the air. The speakers play the chorus to Nightcore's version of 'Angel with a shotgun' so he flips his stick and mimics shooting at the goal with a rifle before the Angels pile on top of Cas in celebration.

 

**SCORE: Angels 2 - 1 Free Will**  
 **Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no. 47 Lucifer Morningstar**.

* * *

**THIRD PERIOD**

* * *

When coming out onto the ice at the end of the rest between 2nd and 3rd period Sam waves him over to the Free Will booth and Cas skates over there. Free Will has just gotten a talk by Gabriel and Sam leans towards Cas.

"You said in your interview you wanted to meet him," he says and then catches his coach's attention. "Hey, Gabe! Here he is!"

Gabriel turns his golden-brown eyes on Cas. "Heya, kiddo!"

"It's an honour to meet you, Sir." Cas answers.

"Yeah, I saw the interview. You're a fan." Gabe winks and sticks a blue lollipop in his mouth. "Novak was it, right?" He smiles nonchalantly but his eyes are sharp.

Cas feels like he's been struck. Internally he freezes like a deer in the headlight, outwardly his face remains neutral and the only giveaway for his panic is a minuscule twitch in a tiny muscle by his eye. It's ridiculous of course. 'Collins' is written in bold letters on the backside of his shirt and Gabriel, being a coach and all, has been following everything that happened in the game.

"It's Collins, Sir," he corrects.

Gabriel removes his lollipop from his mouth with a loud pop. "Sorry, kiddo. You just remind me of someone." His eyes tell Cas he isn't buying it. Gabriel gestures with his lollipop at him. "I was told your style reminds folks of me. I can see why they think so. You're good. You're very good." He throws his arms out in a grand gesture. "Of course you must be - if you skate like me!”

"Thank you, Sir," Cas says with a little smile. Inside he is still shaken and wary after being called by the name he had while he was still figure skating.

"So listen up, kiddo. If you ever get bored of playing with the Angels, there's room on this team for you," Gabriel says. Cas hears Sam saying "Yeah!" and Dean " _Hell no!_ " somewhere behind him.

"That's a kind offer, Sir, and I'm honoured you'd consider having me. But l must decline the offer. I'm not inclined to abandon my team. It is not in me to betray the trust and camaraderie that has been bestowed upon me. Sir."

"Well, it's up to you, kiddo. The offer stands." Gabriel sticks his lollipop in his mouth again and Raphael is yelling for Cas to gather with the others. Cas gives Gabriel a departing nod and skates away.

* * *

The 3rd period comes around and Cas is tired, off balance from the Novak thing, and rapidly losing his temper. Something Dean’s playing right into by body-checking him over and over and over again. Every time he slams into Cas he taunts him. They've played for mere minutes and already Cas has taken more hits than he had in both previous periods. Dean’s being smart about it, though. Just quick in and outs that won't cause penalties. When Dean comes in with a particularly hard hit that has Cas slamming into the board with his back and Dean barrelling straight into his chest Cas finally snaps. He drops his stick and gloves and takes a swing that catches Dean straight in the jaw and sends him sprawling on the ice. Cas follows but is instantly caught and held back by Sam, talking placatingly to him. Lucifer comes between them too now, helping Dean up and holding onto his shirt so he doesn't charge Cas. Balt’s there then, helping Sam hold Cas back because Cas is furiously trying to get to Dean, not thinking clearly. Dean, though. That bloody wanker is _grinning_! Eyes locked on Cas, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Pleased and provocative but not making any move whatsoever to engage in a fight. Then the referees are there doling out a 2-minute penalty to Cas for Fighting. Cas reins himself in. With difficulty. Lucifer escorts him to the penalty booth while lecturing him for fighting, telling him that's not his job and to let someone else do the dirty work. Cas punches the glass repeatedly while he takes a seat. Boiling on the inside.

"You poxy bellend!" he yells at Dean when he skates by, giving Cas a little wave and a smirk.

* * *

**3rd period. Time left 14:36 [Powerplay Team Free Will - Penalty time left 00:20]**

Garth deflects a shot from Lucifer. Sam get's the puck, passes to Victor, back to Sam. Balt battles for the puck with Sam, it bounces off Balt's skate and slides along the board to Dean who skates away from Free Will's zone. Dangling the puck, first losing Lucifer, feinting away Balt as he crosses the midline. Spins around befuddling Gadreel on the blue line, Uriel's in the way so Dean skates along the board behind the goal, Alfie desperately tries to follow him with his eyes, head snapping from side to side. Dean flips the puck up on his blade, lifts it, carrying the puck at chest height, he from behind simply puts his blade out by the top corner of the goal and with a little twist - flips it straight behind the goalie into the roof of the net. The signal for goal blares.

"YEEEEAAAH!!! There that Winchester magic for ya!!!" Dean yells with his fists above his head.

The speakers blare out the chorus for 'The devil you know' by Anthrax and the supporters chant "Demon Dean! Demon Dean! Demon Dean!" Huh. Well, that's a new one. The poster thing must be really catching on, but it's fine. He can work with that!  
He skates up to the penalty box where Cas is banging the plexiglass looking furious. Dean stops in front of him grinning wildly. He grabs his crotch, snaps his hips forward in a lewd gesture, and winks at Cas.

"Oh you wish, Winchester! You wanker! You want a piece of me?! Do you?! Twonk! I'll bloody _end_ you!" Cas riles against the plexiglass.

"I like to see you try, wing _boy_! Whatcha gonna do, huh? Pat me on the cheek again?" he shouts back and throws Cas a kiss before his team covers him in a huddle hug.

**SCORE: Angels 2 - 2 Team Free Will**   
**Goal by no. 13 Dean Winchester.**

* * *

When Cas comes out of the penalty booth his temper has boiled into something cold, no longer uninhibited. He doesn't know _why_ the older Winchester manages to provoke him, but his head is in the game again and fighting Dean is not going to cut it. He stays true to Lucifer's instructions. He’s not going to let himself be influenced by Winchester's taunts.

Dean comes in fast, body angled forward and shoulder tilted to check Cas. Right before impact Cas curls himself into a ball as low on the ice as he will go and Dean slams into the board without getting any contact. Cas straightens, propelling the puck between his skates and seemingly on incident his stick drags behind him, catching on the inside of Dean's skate. Cas' forward motion yanks Dean off balance and he falls. _Son of a bitch_! Dean scrambles up to follow.

* * *

**3rd period. Time left 01:52**

The tempo of the game has increased even more now the game is nearing its end. Balt has gotten himself loose with the puck when it rebounded from Alfie's save of Free Will's last charge. Balt is fast and Morningstar is like a fucking brick wall protecting him, keeping anyone from catching up to him. Dean’s chasing Cas rather than the puck, though. That fucking douché has his finger in every play for goal the Angels have done. When they're over the blue line Balt passes to Cas who avoids Dean's attack with a twirl that ends with a shot for goal that is all net. The signal for goal sounds. _FUCK_!!

"Fuck!"

"How's _that_ for a pat on the cheek, Incubus?" Cas smirks, slaps Dean on the ass and skates away waving to the crowd to the tones of 'Angel in the Centerfold' coming from the speakers once again. _Fuck_!

 

**SCORE: Angels 3 - 2 Team Free Will**   
**Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no. 50 Balthazar Roché.**

* * *

**POST GAME**

* * *

Free Will does not manage to change the score during the last minute and a half and the horn blares signalling game over. Dean’s pissed off and disappointed. He's getting consolidary pats on the back from team members. He vaguely registers Sam shaking hands with, and then giving Cas a hug, congratulating him. That fucking traitor! Yeah okay, so Sam had played really well tonight and in no way let his friendship with Cas interfere with his game play. But _still_! Dean turns his back to them in time to miss Lucifer skating up to Sam and Cas, slinging an arm around both of their shoulders. He doesn’t see Sam grinning and jesting with the Angel Captain.

Dean follows his teammates as they begin filing off the ice. He’s so angry! While some in the team stop by the media section to give post-game interviews he just stomps right by. At the last second he changes his mind and goes back, heading straight for the camera team of the largest sports channel covering the game. He stops directly in front of the camera, looking straight into it, ignoring the questions the blonde reporter tries to ask him. He points at the camera.

"You were lucky tonight, Angel! You won't be so lucky next time! I'm going to take you down! So you better play your best this season and not let anyone fuck you up, because _I'm_ the one who's gonna make you fall!" He points a thumb harshly towards his chest to accentuate his point. "Nobody else, wing _boy_. _ME_!!" He glares challengingly at the camera, stare defiant, then turns on his heel and stomps away again.

When he reaches the locker room he's already regretting his impulsive move. Great, Winchester! Think before you act, dammit! Throwing a temper tantrum right before the camera. Bet the media's gonna _love_ that one.

The Angels come off the ice some time later and Cas stops for interviews. He’s grinning broadly at the reporters. Accepting their congratulations for the hat trick. Really, it's the usual. Same questions asked, same answers given.

"It was a very good game and we held it together very well. Everyone in the team did what they were supposed to and we were able to communicate well with each other on the ice. There was a few moments when the game got away from us but mostly we recovered." The usual answers.

Until he gets to the biggest sports channel's reporter.

"....speaking of communicating on the ice. You had an altercation with 'the Dean'. Can you tell us about that?"

Well shit. Of course they had to bring his lapse of control up. The man’s infuriating! But he couldn't tell them that. "Things like that just happen on the ice. It was no big thing. Winchester is extraordinarily talented and added an extra edge to the game. I had fun facing him. Our little... rough and tumble... is hardly something worth focusing on. Tempers flare in the heat of the moment but it's nothing personal," Cas answers with a smile that he hopes is relaxed. He doesn't normally drop his gloves to fight, so for him it was a major misstep. He only hopes that him being new in this league makes people unaware of that fact.

"Demon Dean came by earlier and he left a very personal message to you," the reporter tells him, latching on to Dean's new nickname.

"Oh yeah?" Cas curiosity is piqued.

The reporter holds up a little hand held monitor for him to see, and presses play. The camera still rolling, taking in his reaction as he watches Dean's little rant. A huge grin spreads on his face and all his regrets about losing control are wiped away. He‘s obviously not the only one losing control of his temper. He feels giddy. Excited.

"Aww.. Isn't that adorable? The little incubus wants me to fall for him..." he says with a mocking tone still looking down at the monitor where the clip has stopped, freeze framing Dean's defiant stare. He looks up at the reporter. "Can you play that again?"

She does and he takes the monitor this time, holding it himself in both hands. An amused laughter escapes him when the message is played. He touches the screen almost affectionately with the tips of his fingers before he catches himself and hands the monitor back.

"Go ahead!"

He turns to face the camera and leans in like he's looking directly at Dean. Blue eyes glittering with humour and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Well, Winchester...." he pauses for effect. "Challenge. Accepted!" Then he winks teasingly at the camera, nods a goodbye to the reporter and heads for the locker room, grinning madly. His chest is aflutter and who cares why!

The team’s divided in the celebrations of victory. Raphael, for once, lifted the alcohol restriction and joined the team at the Crossroads, while their first line slipped away to celebrate back in the Garrison. A party is in full swing in Lucifer's quarters. Loud music, girls (and a couple of guys) dancing and general revelry going on in the living room. Lucifer and Cas are not joining in. They lie on the bed watching re-caps of the game, interviews and analytics while sharing a bottle of Jack, drinking straight from it. Cas has a blonde girl draped across his body and right now he's not pleased about it. She has become increasingly handsy the last ten minutes and it's getting harder to concentrate on the TV. She kisses his neck and sneaks her hand inside his pants and he runs out of patience. Grabbing her wrist harshly he yanks it out of his pants and scowls at her, shoving her off him.

"Stop that. Go away," he snaps at her. She gapes at him disbelievingly then turns to petulantly stomp off. He recalls seeing the girl from his welcome party earlier and calls "Tell the brunette with the red tee to come in here!" to the blonde's back as she leaves. Lucifer emits an amused chuckle at his side but doesn't say anything. It doesn't take long, though, before the requested girl pops her head around the door frame.

"Maria said there was an asshole in here that wanted to see me?"

Cas raises his hand, looking disgruntled. "That would be me," he says, eliciting another chuckle from Lucifer.

The girl breaks out in a big smile, bringing out her dimples, and steps into the bedroom.

"You, an asshole?" she asks. "That's not how I recall it."

"Make no mistake about it. I can be. But in this case it was a matter of her not understanding that being beautiful does not automatically equal consent," Cas answers with a sour twist to his lips. The girl giggles.

Cas pats the bed beside him invitingly and raises an eyebrow at her. She smiles again and comes willingly. Lays down and moulds herself to his side, resting her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. She allows herself to be adjusted and just relaxes into Cas' one-armed hold.

"Good girl. That's what I want," he praises and feels her smile against his shoulder. She hums. "If you wish to go back and join the party I will not stop you. We are watching television here and I do not want to be disturbed by incessant chatter or groping," he continues, making Lucifer chuckle again. His Captain is rather drunk.

"No. No I'm good. This is nice," the girl says.

"Good girl," Cas purrs, pleased, and kisses the top of her head. He tugs up the hem of his T-shirt. "Put your hand inside," he instructs. She moves the hand from his chest and slides it inside before she settles it right back where it was, but now under the shirt. Skin against skin. "That's it. Perfect. You're such a good girl aren't you?" he praises again, feeling her preen from his words. He likes her. Undemanding and good natured. Maybe he will take her number this time? "So do you have a name or should I just assign you one?" he asks.

Lucifer laughs beside him. "Is that the asshole tendencies peaking through, Cassie?" he jibes.

The girl is not offended though, she just giggles in response. "My name is Katie," she tells him.

"Katie. I'll remember that next time," Cas decides. He takes a swig from the bottle and strokes her hair before turning his attention back to the television. There’s an interview with Gabriel. He is sucking another lollipop, green this time, while answering the questions seated in a studio.

_"...so both your team and the Angels' first line sees an unusual amount of ice time. Isn't it a hazard when the players get extra tired?"_

_"Well, Brenda. You see, both Free Will and the Angels share a similar problem but for different reasons. My team is very young and mostly made up of local talent. Recruiting locally makes the number of star quality players limited and we have to make do with those we have. The Angels however have had a problem with their players getting snatched up by ChHL teams, bleeding the team of their talents. Plus there seems to have been some internal disagreements in their team the last couple of years, making players prone to leave. Y'know. Politics. All in all that makes it necessary for the first line to spend more time on the ice."_

Cas glances towards Lucifer questioningly. His Captain meets his eyes with a side glance of his own and nods almost imperceivably before looking back at the TV. Confirming that there has been problems within the team. Cas mulls this over. It must have something to do with Michael. And Cas isn’t dumb. He’s picked up on the general undercurrents of unease in the team. Not much of it in their first line, though, and those were the people Cas actually hung out with. His attention goes back to the interview, catching the end of it.

_"...has grown a lot during the last year as a player. I think Winchester and the rest of the team are ready to take it to the big league this year. In fact, Brenda, I'm sure of it!"_

_"And with that we thank Gabriel 'The Trickster' Milton for the interview. Over to you, Charles."_

Then there's footage from the game with commentary. They lie mostly silent, getting increasingly drunk. Cas feels at home. Katie is snuggling to his side without making any demands for more, content to let him stroke her hair, shoulder and waist as he pleases. Lucifer only makes random remarks about mistakes made on the ice or playfully teases Cas about the Dean situation which seems to have snowballed considerably after the game. Media obviously loves a cliché so the angel/demon theme comes up over and over again with the clip of Winchester's post-game threat and Cas' answer to it. It seems to amuse Lucifer to no end. There's no malice in his Captain's jibes though so Cas takes them light heartedly. It only serves to make him feel more at home, and he’s still very pleased with himself for getting Dean so riled up.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The goal Dean makes here is inspired by a real one I saw in a dangle composition on YouTube. It was friggin' beautiful! Dean comes in with a bit more speed though. The game was Michigan vs Minnesota March 24th, 1996. Here's the link to a clip of the goal that inspired me if you want to watch it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAMeLu0udLs
> 
> As for Cas choice of language when he gets pissy on the ice - He grew up in Europe so I figured British curse words would make the most sense. I also figured due to his drifting days in the underground part of cities would make him more inclined to use slang.


	9. Why was he recounting to himself every shade of blue Cas' eyes could take on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has good influence on Dean, Sam is bemused and Cas gets a taste of the animosity between the twin towns. Dean thinks Sam and Cas are girls. Lucifer is being... well, Lucifer. And he approves. And there's texting.
> 
> These events take place between the game played and the first games of the real season. Approximately a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers for this chapter.  
> Some Sam POV and some Lucifer POV
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**GOOD INFLUENCE?**

* * *

Sam wakes up to the sound of Dean rummaging in the kitchen. He groans and stretches, feeling the ache in one shoulder after being quite brutally body-checked into the board by Gadreel in last night's game. He looks at the clock on the night stand. **06:43 AM**.

_What on earth..?_

The smell of coffee drifts through the apartment and Sam gets out of bed with another groan. He tugs on a pair of sweatpants and shuffles to the kitchen while rubbing his eyes. Dean’s fully dressed and preparing his cup of coffee in his studiously ritualistic way that Sam can never seem to remember. Sugar and milk and stirring it in a certain order. A bit OCD if you ask Sam, but with their upbringing some odd behaviours are to be expected.

"Dude... It's not even seven o'clock. What are you doing up?" Sam asks and yawns.

"I'm gonna pop down to the rink to shoot some pucks. Wanna come?" Dean answers, sounding waaay too chipper for this time in the morning.

"Dude! Practise doesn't start 'til 10..." Another yawn.

"Yeah well, I figured I'd make an early start," Dean says and hands him a cup of black coffee.

Sam looks down at his coffee and sits down by the table, then he looks up, bemused, at his older brother who’s leaning back against the counter sipping from his mug.

"But... _Why_?"

"There's no way in _Hell_ I'm gonna let wingboy win next time," he answers matter of factly.

Sam almost chokes on his coffee and reins in his impulse to laugh. Because really? If _that's_ the effect Cas has on his brother, then that's a good thing. Getting out of bed bright and early and not hung over. Sam’s not going to jest about it in case it makes Dean change his mind.

Once Dean leaves Sam shoots off a text to Cas.

**Sam Winchester 07:01 AM:** _Dude. I think you have a good influence on my brother. He just went to practise three hours before schedule!_

* * *

**INCOMING TEXT...**

* * *

As he sits down behind the wheel in his Baby his phone beeps, indicating an incoming message. Dean fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket and opens the message.

**Cas 07:06 AM:** [ _Picture included:_ Depicting the lower half of a pair of legs in black track pants over naked feet standing on hardwood floor. A cross is taped on the floor between the feet.]

Whatta fuck?

**Cas 07:07 AM:** _I taped a cross there so you will know what ground you are supposed to be kissing._

"Son of a bitch!"

Dean rummages in the glove compartment until he finds a roll of blue electrical tape. He grabs it and gets out of the car again. He hitches up his jacket where it covers his jeans and tapes a cross over one of his buttocks. Then he twists his arm around to take a picture of it.

**Dean Winchester 07:12 AM** : _Dickbag! You can kiss this!_  
**Dean Winchester 07:12 AM:** [ _Picture included:_ Jeans clad ass with a blue cross on it.]

**Cas 07:14 AM:** _;)_

* * *

_Incoming text message..._

**Cas 07:09 AM:** _What kind of car does Gabriel Milton drive?_

**Sam Winchester 07:10 AM:** _Gabe? A McLaren F1 LM._

**Cas 07:10 AM:** _Are you sure?_

**Sam Winchester 07:13 AM:** _Of course I'm sure, Cas. It's orange for crying out loud! Can't miss that. There's like, what? Five in the world? Not that Gabe brags about it. He lets the car do the bragging for itself._

**Cas 07:14 AM:** _Okay. That's nice. Thank you, Sam._

**Sam Winchester 07:15 AM:** _No prob. Why do you want to know?_  
**Sam Winchester 07:20 AM:** _???_

* * *

**ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE RIVER**

* * *

Dean’s heading for the check out in the supermarket with tonight's dinner ingredients when he spots Cas by the register arguing with the clerk (Tim was it?), looking 100% done with it. His white jacket with the blue Angel crest standing out like a beacon in this part of the twin towns. _Dumbass_. He walks up to them and puts down his wares on the counter.

"Hey, Cas! What's up?"

Cas rolls his eyes and turns towards Dean, locking him with a petulant stare with his blue eyes. Right now they are darker blue, hinting at gray. Like a stormy ocean. Not his usual clear blue or the radioactive radiant kind of blue they take on when his fighting face slips on. When Cas attacked him during the game they had bordered on black, burning like friggin supernovas! And _why_ was he standing here recounting to himself every shade of blue Cas' eyes could take on? Right.

"It _seems_ ," Cas says in a tight voice. "I'm no longer welcome to purchase my groceries in this store."

Dean turns to the cashier, quirking one eyebrow. "Hey Tim, what's up with that?" he asks, already knowing the answer of course.

"Fucking Angels should stay on their side of the river, man," the cashier spits out, glaring at Cas.

Dean puts his hand on Cas shoulder, still looking at Tim. "If the wingboy wants to give you his money you take it, all right? They're as good as anybody else's. Angel or not."

"But, Mr. Winchester..!" Tim protests and Dean cuts him off.

"My little brother actually _likes_ this guy, don't ask me why. I wouldn't put it past him to shop at another store if he finds out his friend is being disrespected. And he will find out, because I will _tell_ him. You understand?"

Now _that_ gets the cashier's attention. Nobody wants to alienate one of their team's players. And it goes without saying that if Sam ditches the store, Dean follows.

"Yes Sir," Tim answers nervously.

"Atta boy! So why don't you go ahead and bag mister flyboy's stuff up and we'll forget all about this thing, huh?" Dean says with a smile and winks at the cashier.

"Yes, Sir!" Tim goes to work punching in Cas' groceries in the register and bagging them.

Dean becomes aware that Cas has his head turned towards him, expression neutral and gaze unwavering, studying Dean's face. For how long? He realises he still has his hand on Cas' shoulder and quickly retracts it, his cheeks heating up. _Christ_! Why is he blushing? Cas' eyes shift to his shoulder and the point of lost contact. A small frown forming on his brows. Douchébag. Like it’s soo bad Dean touched him? _Fuck him_! Ungrateful bastard. Cas looks up again.

"Thank you, Dean." He sounds almost solemn. Eyes squinting a little.

Oh. Okay. Not so ungrateful then, just a general douchébag. And weird. Don't forget weird.

"Um. Yeah... No prob, Cas." Very eloquent Winchester. Well done! "Next time you might want to think about shopping at the supermarket on your side of the river, though."

Cas expression turns sour. "This store is much better stocked, and you know it! What's next? Only being allowed to ride in _the back_ of the bus?" he scowls.

"That's why we have cars," Dean deadpans. This startles a laugh out of Cas, making his nose crinkle and his eyes to seemingly shift colour back to clear blue. Dean finds himself grinning back at him, an odd little flutter in his stomach for no apparent reason.

Cas is still smiling after he has paid for his groceries and heads towards the parking lot. He stops by the entrance and looks at Dean. If Dean didn't know better he'd say it was affectionate. Then Cas shakes his head and leaves.

* * *

**LIKE TEENAGE GIRLS!**

* * *

Sam's on the phone again, has been for the last fucking hour! Again. With Cas. I mean, how much can two dudes have to say to each other really? They're throwing chick flick moments at each other on a daily basis by now. Like fucking _women_. Not that they are only talking feelings and shit. They talk about manly stuff too. Like hockey and house repairs. And weird stuff, like grammar and the intricate workings of friggin' _bees_. If Dean's anyway near when they get to it he just tune out, letting Sam's voice turn into a comforting background hum. Right now though, Dean feels left out. He is bored. Sam's dinner's getting cold and there's nothing on TV. Dean has already eaten. Sam's voice drifts muted from his bedroom into the livingroom. It's hard to make out the words, Dean can't hear it.

_"So you're telling me you dad_ made _you take lessons?!?"_  
_"Dude! Are you serious?"_  
_"I dunno. Our dad didn't approve of guys dancing except for drunken rambling."_  
_"He said dancing was for girls and faggots only. He got really mad when Dean said he wanted to become a dancer. Gave him lot of crap for it."_  
_"Ha ha. Yeah he did. But that was before the hockey."_  
_"Yeah. He still watches every crappy dance show he can find on TV. He thinks I don't know, but I do. Nothing wrong with that. I don't share dad's views of the world. 'S kinda hard to let go sometimes, though. Dad was very... persuasive."_

“Hey Sammy! Get off that phone and come eat your dinner!" Dean shouts.

"Shut up Dean! I'm busy!" is the yelled reply.

"You're not talking about me are you?!"

"'Course not!"

"Cuz I'll kick your ass if you do!"

"Yeah yeah! Just leave me be, jerk!"

Dean mutters "Bitch," under his breath and turns the telly up. He feels restless. He could call Benny and hang out with him or go to the Roadhouse and catch some action, but he isn’t feeling it. Tomorrow morning they're getting on a plane to play their first game of the season. He’s already packed, and he’s charged to play. The amount of time he'd spent on the ice practising since they met the Angels is stupid really. He hasn't missed one session, showing up early and leaving late. It will be worth it. Yeah, he'd show that friggin' blue eye who's the real champion! Now if Sam could just get off that stupid phone and keep him company...

* * *

**LUCIFER**

* * *

Lucifer takes two steps into Cassie's room and stops. Castiel lies on top of the bed, fully dressed, one knee drawn up, foot resting on the bed and the ankle of the other leg hitched on top of it. One hand under his head, the other on his stomach, phone pinned between his head and the arm it’s resting on. His eyes had been trained on the poster but slowly shift to Lucifer. He doesn’t stop talking on the phone. Completely unbothered by the intrusion.

 

It’s rare, this absolute acceptance of disregard for privacy. Luci has made note of it and tested it out. He’s stopped knocking and will simply enter Cassie's room at any given time he knows the other man to be in. Castiel will mostly just look up at him, expression neutral, and wait. Never flinching, never asking Luci's reason for being there. Sometimes he will just continue doing what he’s doing, like now. Other times he will start talking mid-conversation, like Luci had been in there all along. Not nervous chatter. Just... like they'd had part of the conversation already in Cassie's head. It was... interesting. Most of the time he'll just wait for Luci to say something. Answering questions without hesitation. And if Cassie doesn’t want to answer a question, he doesn’t. He won’t come up with excuses or bullshit answers. Just keep his mouth shut and let Luci draw his own conclusions in the matter. Many times the silence is more telling than a spoken answer would be, despite the mask of impassiveness Castiel wears so well.

 

He’s in no way a push over. One time Luci had seen Uriel walk into Castiel's room and been turned away with a "No. Turn around. Close the door on the way out," in a tone that brooked no argument, before Uriel even had the chance to open his mouth. He’d been swiftly obeyed by the bigger man. This had triggered Luci's curiosity and later the same day he’d entered Cassie's room without saying a word. He’d proceeded to lazily go through his things, looking through drawers, reading notebooks, checking his wardrobe. He’d even ripped some pages out of one of the notebooks, crumpled them and thrown them in the waste paper basket. No reaction. None. Castiel just studied him for a while and then proceeded to read the book he had in his lap. Totally unruffled by the abusive behaviour. When Luci checked later during a time when Cassie was out, the crumpled pages were still in the trash. Untouched.

Luci's raid had yielded quite a few things about Cassie though. He has one personal photo that is old and worn. It’s of a square faced, smirking girl with brown curly hair and hooded brown eyes. She was beautiful by all means, but looked very cold. That's the only truly personal keepsake that can be found in Castiel's room. No family pictures, no letters, no diaries. Not that the rest of his belongings doesn’t tell a story of their own. Cassie owns three pair of very expensive watches, leather bracelets, a couple of necklaces in leather or silver. He has tailor made suits and waistcoats, high quality button downs and ties. His sports wear ranges from run down and trashy to expensive brand stuff. His pants also range in type and quality. A great amount of his T-shirts and sweaters have prints from different TV-shows. He has several pair of shoes. Expensive brand shoes that go with his suits, running shoes, run down sneakers and tactical police boots with steel reinforced toes. He has two pairs of those, one pair that’s obviously made for summer wear and the other he wears on a daily basis.

His notebooks are filled with things written in several languages in a neat and orderly script. Mostly hockey related stuff. Some are about car racing and hang gliding. Some about dancing. His wardrobe also yields a confirmation about information Luci had dug up about Cassie after he had filled in the 'personal' paper in his file. A pair of figure skates.

His mother had married and become a Novak not long after Cassie's birth, Castiel had been named Novak right from his birth though, making it hard to trace him backwards without knowing his mother's name or his birthplace. Which is something he never give away in interviews. Eight years ago James Castiel Novak ceased to exist, dropping from the radar completely. He resurfaced as Castiel Collins three years ago as a player in a Swedish hockey team. During the five years in between there’s no record of him whatsoever. As a figure skater he’d been known as James or 'Jimmy' Novak, trained by his father who was the only one who'd refer to him as Castiel while giving short gruff interviews. Hard information to come by indeed, and therefore Luci has opted not to put it in Cassie's file once he uncovered it. You never know who'd end up reading his files. Cassie has no living relatives. The girl in the photo Luci deduced to be Meg Masters, Castiel's partner. A Ukraine orphan that had come to live with the Novaks once they partnered up. By all evidence the pair had become more than just partners on the ice and there was some sweet footage of the two of them, kissing and hugging after performing their routine, if you knew what to look for online.

Since Luci offered him to make use of the office Cassie’s joined him there on a daily basis, mostly working quietly or offering input on strategy. He’s good at it, but squirms if asked to make decisions that will impact the whole team, not showing any inclination to lead. That suits Luci just fine. Cassie often seeks wordless guidance from Luci by seeking his eyes, picking up on the smallest shift of expression. It’s marvellous on the ice - in practise, and now tested in a real game. It’s like controlling someone with mind power alone. Not like a mindless dummy. On the contrary, Luci only has to think of what he needs to happen and Castiel will pick up on it, solving the problem of _how_ it would happen. It only seems to fail when the oldest Winchester is in near vicinity. Like an Achilles heel he refuses to confirm or deny having. Luci teases him subtly but relentlessly about it. Every day Cassie comes into the office Luci will have put up a new picture of Dean on Cassie's whiteboard. Every day Cassie will stare impassively at it for a moment, sometimes minutes, before crumpling it and throwing it in the trash. It amuses Lucifer to no end.

Luci sits down on Castiel's desk chair and stretches his legs out, crossing his arms over his chest and studies Cassie while he talks on the phone.

"...taken more dance lessons than I can count. Father forced me, but no, that would be speaking untrue. No force was needed to sway me into engaging that past time. I enjoy it immensely....  
Yes....  
Yes of course I'm serious! Why would I lie about something like that??  
'Drunken rambling' as you say, can be rewarding too. Why would your father disapprove?...  
He wanted to become a dancer?!  
Are we still talking about your brother? The same Dean I've met?...  
Uhuh. Mhm.  
I can relate to that. I still feel Father's ghost hover over me at times. Especially when my actions are not of a nature he would condone of..."

 

Cassie's attention has wandered up to the ceiling now that he’s discerned that Luci isn't about to speak. Luci might as well not even be in the room. It’s a sign of trust from Castiel's part, arrogant as it may seem to an outsider. Cassie isn't one for running his tongue freely. Sam Winchester makes an exception for that rule, and talking to him has become a fixture in his daily routine. Incidentally and satisfyingly landing the younger Winchester as a fixed point in Luci's life too. Without the major disturbance of one misguided, annoyingly overprotective older brother. Luci had been unsure of how he felt about the friendship between Cassie and Sam at first, but finding no ulterior motive from Castiel's part he decided he approved.

 

Balt put his head inside the door. "Knock knock, Cassie! Have you seen Cap...? Oh."

Castiel goes silent at the first sight of Balt, pinning him with a murderous glare. Balt isn’t welcome to listen in on Cassie's phone conversations. Lucifer smirks and rises from the chair, sauntering after Balt as the other man backs out of the room, throwing wary glances at Cassie. Luci closes the door on the way out. As much shit as their new center is willing to take from Luci without so much as a twitch of discomfort (or sucking up, for that matter) he’s quick to establish authority in the team with aura alone. Lucifer doesn’t have to reinforce it. He would, if need should arise. But he doesn’t have to. Which is the point. When Cassie gets pissy, the team members get out of the way. Which is... convenient. Especially since he doesn’t seem to carry a grudge longer than it takes for a goldfish to swim a lap in its bowl. As long as you let him be in early mornings. They had _all_ learned that lesson by now.

* * *


	10. Jealousy is an ugly colour.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas texts Dean, Sam invites Cas to celebrate at the Roadhouse and Dean might be misreading the signals he is picking up. Not seeing the signs. Neon signs that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Chess. Should this be a warning? They are short games, you don't need to understand chess to follow the story though. Any questions? Just ask. Or google chess strategy.
> 
> Cas shirt is a reference to Dr.Who, the Weeping Angels episode. If you don't get that reference (Dean doesn't) but want to - here's a clip:  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwdbLu_x0gY>  
> No worries. Knowledge about other fandoms is never relevant to the plot.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**CHECKMATE!**

* * *

The Angels have had their first game of the season, the second one’s coming up. Cas has found a shortcut to get into game mode when he's playing away games.

* * *

_Incoming text..._

 

**Cas 17:30 PM:** _Pawn to D4._

**Dean Winchester 17:31 PM:** _What?!?_

**Cas 17:32 PM:** _We're playing chess._

**Dean Winchester 17:33 PM:** _Dude, don't you have your own friends to play with?_

**Cas 17:34 PM:** _Yes. I do. Lucifer keeps winning though. I don't take defeat well. It's your turn._

**Dean Winchester 17:34 PM:** _Whatever._

**Dean Winchester 17:43 PM:** _Pawn to D5_

**Cas 17:44 PM:** _Knight to F3._

**Dean Winchester 17:46 PM:** _Bishop to G4_

**Cas 17:47 PM:** _Knight to E5._

**Dean Winchester 17:49 PM:** _Pawn to H5_

**Cas 17:50 PM:** _Queen to D3._

**Dean Winchester 17:55 PM:** _Pawn to F6_

**Cas 17:55 PM:** _You clearly aren't thinking this through._   
**Cas 17:56 PM:** _Queen to G6. Check mate._   
**Cas 17:57 PM:** _That was five moves, Winchester. ;)_

**Dean Winchester 17:59 PM:** _Fuck you! I didn't want to play in the first place asshole!_

**Cas 18:00 PM:** _I wouldn't call that playing._

**Dean Winchester 18:13 PM:** _Fine! I start this time. Pawn to F4_

**Cas 18:14 PM:** _Pawn to E6._

**Dean Winchester 18:17:** _Pawn to G4._

**Cas 18:18 PM:** _Seriously Dean?_   
**Cas 18:19 PM:** _I mean it. Was that a serious move?_   
**Cas 18:20 PM:** _I'm sorry my counter is taking so long. I seem to be unable to stop laughing._   
**Cas 18:21 PM:** _Queen to H4. Check Mate._   
**Cas 18:22 PM:** _That was two moves Dean. Two! I'm very disappointed in you._

**Dean Winchester 18:24 PM:** _Fucking hell! This is not my type of game ok?_

**Cas 18:26 PM:** _Of course it is, Dean. You're a brilliant strategist. I believe I caused an ache in your jaw to attest to that. Don't tell me that you weren't baiting me into a penalty, that would be a lie. It was all tactics. I've studied countless of videos of you playing. You think on your feet and play with excellent strategy, adapting it to whoever you're up against. It's beautiful to watch._

**Dean Winchester 18:30 PM:** _Yeah? You think I'm beautiful to watch do you wingboy? That's hockey. It's completely different!_

**Cas 18:32 PM:** _Yes._

_And it's exactly the same._

**Dean Winchester 18:33 PM:** _Dude! It totally isn't!_   
**Dean Winchester 18:38 PM:** _Wait, what? What was the "Yes" for? Are we still talking about hockey?!_

**Cas 18:45 PM:** _I've got to go. It's time to warm up before our game. Good night Dean._

* * *

**ANGELS AT THE ROADHOUSE**

* * *

Free Will has won a game and Sam invited some guests to celebrate while they were in town.

* * *

_"Fuckin' faggot!"_  
 _"Hey! None of that in my place or I will box your ears and send you home, Carl!_ " Ellen's voice.

The sound of the ruckus draws Dean's attention to the entrance of the Roadhouse. Ellen’s herding a disgruntled Carl back to the pool section. Sam’s there together with Cas, Balt and a pretty black haired guy with girlish looks who’s currently kissing Balt's neck. Which explains Carl's vehemence.

"I'll be damned, brother!" Benny says opposite him. "I never thought the day would come Angels joined in the celebration of our victory. In the Roadhouse no less!"

"Neither did I. Sam said he would invite Cas, though," Dean answers, watching the newcomers stomp snow off their feet and take off their jackets. Cas wears a blue T-shirt with a white print of what looks like a phone booth and the text 'KEEP CALM AND DON'T BLINK'. Seems legit. Considering Cas penchant for staring creepily. Cas removes the beanie he’s wearing, stuffs it in the arm of his jacket and then runs his hand through his hair a couple of times, making it stand up in a bed head manner.

"They've been getting kinda tight, haven't they?" Benny asks.

"Are you kiddin' me? They're like _girls_! Talking on the phone or texting every day. Hanging out each chance they get, talking feelings and shit. It's disgusting really," Dean sneers. Then his face morphs into something softer and he's smiling. "It's good to see Sammy opening up to someone, though. He doesn't make friends easily."

Cas rubs his hands together and blows into them to warm them up. His cheeks are red from the cold outside.

"I hear ya, brother. But that's all on Sam. He doesn't let folks in. Collins seems like a good fella tho. A bit strange at times, but heart in the right place."

Cas shakes hands with Ellen, smiles and makes small talk. He’s wearing blue, slightly washed out jeans. "You think?" Dean asks and takes a swig of his beer.

"Sure. Yesterday he stopped and gave Andrea a lift into town when her car broke down. Ten cars had passed her already by then, not even slowing down."

Cas’ head swirls, scanning the room and finally locks on Dean, face impassive. It hits Dean then that his eyes haven’t left Cas since they entered and he promptly looks away, turning his attention to Benny. His heart’s racing.

_Christ_! Who's doing the creepy staring now?! What's fucking _wrong_ with him?!

Benny doesn't seem to have noticed, though.

"Yeah? Something must be wrong with people if they don't stop for a pretty girl with car problems in the middle of winter." He grins, hoping to cover his previous angel ogling.

Benny's answer is cut short by four people joining them at the table. Cas slides in on the bench beside Dean, Sam beside Cas. Balt and his date place themselves next to Benny. Dean swears Cas is much closer than he has to. His thigh touches Dean's, his jeans are still cold. That must be why, right? Because he is cold?

"Good game tonight, boys!" Balt congratulates.

"I agree with Balthazar's sentiment. I want to extend my congratulations on your victory. You all played beautifully, working together like clockwork. And normally I don't condone fighting on the ice, but no.19, Larson. His sportsmanship was abhorrent! I'm glad you gave him what he deserved," Cas says, looking both at Dean and Benny.

"Thank you. Nice of you to join us, and yeah. He definitely had it coming. I must say, though, it's mighty brave of you to come here. This is like the very heart of Freeville," Benny answers.

"We were invited. It is not in me to deny a friend due to political reasons. I refuse to be so easily intimidated," Cas says. Then he takes a swig from his bottle of Bacardi Breezer and Dean snorts a little laugh.

"Dude. Those drinks are for girls!" Dean jibes. Cas’ arm is warm where he brushes Dean's and his thigh is warming up too. Dean’s acutely aware of every point of contact between them.

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want it?" Cas deadpans in a dry tone and offers it to him, making the others by the table laugh.

Dean rolls his eyes. What the Hell. They had just beat the Wendigos by 2-0, he could let Cas get away with one point. He raises his beer bottle and clinks Cas’ bottle as to admit Cas won that.

He kind of expects it to be tense at the table with the Angels there, especially with one openly flaunting dubious sexuality, but it isn't. Ellen is quick to chastise any snide remarks or hateful behaviour from other patrons. Balt is one hell of an entertainer and Benny accepts Sam's guests without a qualm. Cas is mostly quiet, just looking at the current speaker without giving much of his emotions away when he's not laughing or delivering a deadpan remark. Dean’s starting to relax in the general atmosphere despite Cas' proximity, when a dark-haired girl named Ruby suddenly all but throws herself in Sam's arms, creating a jarring domino push that has Cas bracing himself with a hand against Dean's thigh.

"Whoa! Easy there tiger!" Dean exclaims and pushes with a hand against Cas' shoulder to shove him off.

"I'm sorry Dean, but..." Cas says and tries to right himself. Another jolt comes when Ruby crawl onto the bench beside Sam, forcing Cas more firmly against Dean, having him brace himself once again. His hand burning through Dean's jeans like fucking fire. Cas gives Dean a pained look. His eyes almost seem gray rather than blue this moment. Pinned between Sam's big bulk and Dean, he twists his body in an attempt not to impose on Dean. Cas' back gets turned against Dean's shoulder, pinching his arm uncomfortable to his side. Dean removes it and drapes it against the backrest, angling his back to the corner, against the wall. This makes Cas come to rest his with back pressed softly against Dean's chest. Their T-shirts seem such a thin protection between them, body heat seeping through. Dean would expect Cas to be hard, with all that wiry muscle mass. He is not. He’s soft and pliant, relaxing into Dean like he belongs there. Dean's heartbeat increases rapidly. This close Dean can smell Cas. He smells faintly of sweat, barest hint of cologne. A fresh scent, like the air after rain early summer mornings, a hint of citrus, and an underlying note that must be just Cas. He smells fucking good. Dean staves off the impulse to inhale deeper and snorts at the whim. The puff of breath hits Cas on the back of his neck.

Did Cas just _shiver_?

Shit. Now he's just imagining things.

Oh crap. It feels good, having Cas pressed up against him like this. And it's not like they have a choice, right? They're basically forced into this position, and nobody that saw what happened would think anything of it. Right? He could shove at Cas, to get him off him, but that would be kind of a dick move. Not with Sam laughing, leaning towards Cas while half-heartedly trying to fend off Ruby's advances. Cas is trapped between the two brothers and sitting like this leaves some space for Sam to flounder while Cas has his hands free to keep Sam and Ruby from squishing him if he needs to. Plus they both can reach their bottles.

Now if his heart would just stop beating so fucking fast, that'd be good.

He takes a swig of his beer. Cas mimics his move, drinking his teenage chick drink. The hairs of Cas’ neck are prickled. He can't still be _cold_ , now can he? He feels so hot against Dean's chest.

"Cas. Are you cold?" Dean asks, putting his chin on the other man's shoulder, smirking at him to hide the nervous flutter that has begun to grow in his stomach. Christ! What's wrong with him?

Cas’ unreadable eyes dart towards Dean without his head turning. If he did his cheek would touch Dean's nose. Cas opens his mouth as if to answer, but changes his mind, nothing coming out. He licks his lips once. Dean tracks the motion and feels his cheeks heat up. Then Cas looks down and starts digging in his jeans pocket about the same time Ruby gives up her pursuit of Sam end leaves. Cas doesn't move away at once. Instead he brings his phone up, switching on the camera.

"Hey, Sam! Lean back here for a moment would you?" Cas bids while holding out his phone on an outstretched arm. Sam’s instantly game, leaning back with his head against Cas with a big dimpled grin towards the camera. Cas smiles when he pushes the button, capturing the three of them. Then they split apart, Cas sliding to his original position he had before Ruby interrupted. Dean feels instant relief and a pang of regret at the same time.

"Really, Angel? _Selfies_?" he mocks.

"Hey! I like selfies! Of other people too. In fact, you should send me some."

"You know who also likes selfies?" Sam interjects.

"Who?"

"Crowley! The dude that owns Crossroads."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Every time he's done a cardio workout down at the gym, he posts a selfie on twitter."

"Dude! Are you following _Crowley_ on twitter??? That's so lame!"

"Dude! He's funny!"

And then the banter is in full swing again.

* * *

They're no longer sitting in the booth. Sam decided to introduce the two Angels to some of the people they hang out with around here. A couple of girls have come on to Cas since he got up and mingled. He seemed totally oblivious until they gave up and left him alone. Dude must be a virgin for sure, to miss some of those less than subtle come ons. It's quite entertaining to watch. Now though, now Pamela Barnes has cornered Cas by the jukebox and apparently isn’t taking no for an answer. At first Cas had tried to decline politely, when it didn't work he backed up until his back hit the jukebox, Pam following with a predatory leer. He looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and darting back and forth looking for an escape route, clutching his bottle in front of him like a shield. It was funny. Now... now it isn't. Cas suddenly seems to give up the fight, lowering his bottle and looking straight at Pam with that soul searching indigo gaze of his. Allowing her to lean in, her hand stroking over Cas' chest. It isn't right. Something ugly bubbling up inside of him, Dean moves before he can stop to think. He strides up to the pair, slamming a hand on the jukebox between them, breaking them apart, then leaning on the same hand, body turned towards Pam.

"He's not interested," he says, tight voice and tighter smile, eyes flashing a warning.

"But, Dean, he so... so scrumptious," she answers with a suggestive smile.

"Not an option. Pick someone else." He's scowling now.

"Okay, okay. No need to get your panties in a bunch," she says and holds her hands up in a placating gestures.

Then she turns, shoots a final wink at Cas, and saunters off, hips swaying seductively. Dean frowns at her, his anger slowly receding. He turns to look at Cas. The man’s studying him, head tilted, eyes squinting, thin line between his brows. Like he’s trying to figure out a friggin' mystery or something. Dean stares back, caught in that vibrant, cornflower blue stare. 

Suddenly he feels awkward, unsure how long they’ve been holding each others’ gaze without saying anything. Yet Dean can’t come up with a single word to say, heat burning his cheeks in embarrassment. Without a word he turns on his heel and stalks away before he’s asked to explain his behaviour.

* * *

Dean’s on the dance floor, dancing with a cute short-haired girl. Cas is by the bar talking to Sam. Dean’s turned so he’s facing the bar, the girl's back towards it. It seems every time Dean throws a glance their way he catches Cas looking at him or eyes darting away, face impassive. What's the dude's problem? Fine! So maybe he's pissed at Dean for meddling where he shouldn't. Maybe he _was_ interested in Pam and Dean acted like a major cockblocking dick, but still! He should just get over it. Douchébag. Fucking wingboy should just give it a rest and stop being so... so... Yeah. Whatever it is that makes him point those fucking blue eyes at Dean all the time. (And catching Dean staring at him.)

Dean grabs the girl's hips and draws her closer, grinding against her in time with the music. Now Sam’s distracted by a conversation with Ellen. Cas turns around, puts his elbows on the bar counter and leans back, bending his knee and hitching a heel on the foot bar behind him. He pins Dean down with his eyes, not even trying to be covert about it. He looks... disgruntled? Yeah. Pissed off for sure. Not the rage he had displayed on the poster or when he slugged Dean on the ice. No, more like sour and cantankerous. Dean meets his gaze stare for a stare while he moves against the girl. Running a hand up over her back, squeezing her ass with the other. Cas eyes narrows, his mouth draws to a thin line. What is his problem anyway? He didn't get any action so now he doesn't want Dean to get any either? Fuck that shit! And fuck him! Without taking his eyes of Cas, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a mocking smile, he bows his head down and starts kissing and nipping a trail up the girl's neck. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the other man and sees rather than hears Cas snort in derision. Then Cas pushes himself away for the bar and heads for the door in long strides, snatching his jacket on the way out.

* * *


	11. ...Or is he in denial?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas mind drifts back to the Roadhouse during a bus trip. Maybe he and Dean had not interpreted the evening quite the same way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of past criminal behaviour.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THINKING ABOUT YOU**

* * *

Hockey is horrid and he is stupid for playing it. Competing is something the Devil invented to torture him. All this bloody travelling. And could Balthazar just stuff a sock in it and leave him be?!

The bus runs over a pothole and the jolt makes his head slam into the window it's resting against. He grunts and opens his eyes. Balt sits beside him turned outward toward the aisle and chats happily with Zach, Mack, and Josh. Chirping like a bloody bird! Cas has an impulse to just throw a fist at Balt's head, laying him out flat. He stares for a while at the spot on the other man's head that would guarantee instant unconsciousness if hit. Reminding himself that it would be bad for their chances to win tonight's game if one of their forwards ended up with a concussion on the way there. (And that he likes the guy too.) He reins that whim in and with another grunt leans back against the window and closes his eyes.

He hates this part of professional competing of any kind. Early mornings, buses, flights, toting luggage and whatnot. From one side of the country to the next. Nothing but brief stops at home. Eleven home games and eleven away games since there are twelve teams in their league. That equals twenty two horrid journeys back and forth. He loves travelling on his own. Like those years roaming Europe. No early mornings, no checking in luggage that gets lost or dinged up on the way. A backpack at the most. He'd hitch a ride, steal a car, or a boat for that matter. Take a ferry or a plane that left at a decent time. Train or bus if it was convenient. He doesn’t even need a backpack really, nor a wallet. There are always ways to get what you want. Con, charm, or hustle someone for housing or clothes. Or find a house where the owners are away on vacation and break in. Find someone to sleep with and ask for a change of clothing in the morning. Worst case scenario just mug someone too drunk to understand what’s happening. He isn't into carjacking, though. That seems unfair. If someone stops to help him he prefers to let them help instead of ripping them out of the car. That doesn’t get the police’s attention at least. And now he is once again stuck on a bus before 06:00 AM.

His mood is still foul since the Roadhouse a couple of days ago, making his morning temper even fouler. He doesn’t understand why he’s so affected. His best friend's brother... Just another pretty face. He means nothing. He should mean nothing. A vastly talented rival on the ice to beware of. Someone invidious to be tolerated for the sake of a friendship. Something charming and beautiful to look at. Nothing more. Yet time and time again the man just bypasses all of his carefully controlled defences, seeping through cracks that shouldn't even be there to begin with. It’s infuriating! From the very moment Dean had stared at him with those green eyes, blazing with furious fire, at their first meeting at Crossroads something had shifted out of place inside him. At first he hadn't though much of it really. But every time they met it became clear that he’s deeply affected and can’t deny it. Winchester makes him unsure of himself, nervous, angry, sometimes fretful. He seems able to pull every trigger Cas has without even trying to.

The only good thing is that the opposite seems to be true. He can obviously sway the man's equilibrium too. That much is evident. Every time he did, it ignited a deeply satisfied thrill in his stomach, making his chest swell, his step lighter in a way he hasn't experienced before. Not in this context at least. It reminds a bit of the same feeling he got when he threw himself off a cliff with a hang glider, just before the wind caught him and lifted him up. Or when he drove top speed through a narrow curve and felt the wheels almost lose their grip on the road. Exhilarating is what it is. Like an ultimate adrenaline rush without the adrenaline. And it bugs the hell out of him that he can't catalogue these emotions into something recognizable. He feels both tormented by them and liberated at the same time. Like he’s been given a key to a treasure but no map to point out where it’s hidden. The closest he comes to describe these feelings to himself, is to put them in the category ' _uninhibited_ '. Then came the debacle at the Roadhouse...

The bus hits another pothole, making Cas sputter a string of curses and give up trying to sleep against the window. He sits up straight, digs up his phone and his headphones. He quickly shoots off a text to both the Winchesters.

 

**Cas: Dean Winchester; Sam Winchester 06:23 AM:** _Mornings are evil. Satan invented buses as a way to torment me! And there's no coffee. :(_

**Sam Winchester 06:24 AM:** _Dude! I'm trying to sleep!_

**Cas: 06:25 AM:** _So was I! Put your phone on silent if you do not wish to share my misery in real time._

**Sam Winchester: 06:26 AM:** _I'm gonna._

**Dean Winchester: 06:30 AM:** _Airplanes are evil! Buses are like kittens in comparison. Hey, you need me to bring you some ...coffee? ;)_

**Cas: 06:31 AM:** _My initial reaction is 'Yes please!' but I fear reality is not on my side on this one. We are already two hours away from your location so even if you didn't have prior engagements you'd really have to floor it and you still wouldn't catch up before we reach destination. I can think of better ways to spend your time:_  
 _Send me a selfie._

**Dean Winchester: 06:34 AM:** [ _Picture included_ : Depicting Dean - head on a pillow, looking sleepy and content, hair pointing whichever way and holding a mug of steaming coffee on his bare chest.]

**Cas: 06:36 AM:** _I'm envious.Take this whichever way you want - but I wish I could be there with you right now!_

**Dean Winchester: 06:38 AM:** _Oh I bet you do! Send me one of you being tormented!_

**Cas: 06:42 AM:** [ _Picture included:_ Depicting Cas looking very grouchy and tired, leaning his head against the window.]

 

If Dean has an answer to that Cas doesn't get it since now the bus has taken them onto a stretch of road straight through nowhere where the reception drops down to zero. Cas makes a dissatisfied noise, puts on his headphones and launches the spotify app, thankful for small mercies like offline playlists that at least will shut out Balt's never ending chatter. He opens up the picture Dean just sent him again and looks at it. Making his thoughts swirl like a compass straight back to what went down at the Roadhouse.

He caught Dean checking him out from the get-go. And not subtly either. Drinking in every detail of him with obvious appreciation until their eyes met and Dean swiftly turned his attention towards Benny, blushing. Well alrighty then. He’d been in the mood to blow off some steam, considering how long he’d been ignoring any urges of that kind. Maybe that was what was needed between them to get rid of these odd reactions he keeps having to the man? Dean’s obnoxious by all means, but his physique and looks would make up for it. Not to mention how passionate and impulsive he is. Could be fun.

Once the idea occurred to Cas he stuck with it. Normally when he appointed a person as his target for a romp in the hay he'd make short work of it. Put all his seduction skills and knowledge of psychology and body language to work. Swiftly pick up on their weaknesses and make use of that. He’s very big on consent when it comes to sex, but he’s not above manipulating his partners into it. In fact, there’s a certain thrill in swaying the most reluctant would-be lover into literally begging for it. Men and women are not that different. The basic needs are the same. He never fully gives up control. Not even back in the days, with Meg. And they had been fumbling inexperienced teenagers. It hadn't taken long to figure it out though. How to build her up and take her apart to a whimpering mess underneath him. Utterly exposed in every sense of the word and totally trusting. The only time he’d let go of all his layers of disciplined control and exposed himself the same way to her, had been after Father's death. The grief ripped all his discipline from him and she swept him up in nurturing comfort. 

Then she died. 

Two months of total openness between them was all they got. Their love had been slow build. It took years, really, for it to develop into the deep affection it had resulted in. Born out mutual respect, a common goal, the trust needed to perform together, and co-dependency. It’s no less beautiful than those passionate love at first sight stories you read about in books or see in movies. Not at he would know. He’d never experienced it. The notion of forming a so strong emotional bond to someone at first glance seems stupid and unrealistic.

And yet, he had basically done so himself when it comes to his friendship with Sam... There had been a feeling of instant kinship despite their differences. A sense of trust and easy going companionship along with deep affection had soon come to define his relationship with Sam. He finds himself talking more freely to him than he'd ever done. Even dropping hints about stuff he has done, and qualities he has, that are less redeeming. He _wants_ to share those aspects of himself, he’s just not sure of how they'll be received. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend over it, though. Sam seems to be struggling with the same thing, dropping hints about his upbringing. So maybe that means that love at first sight could happen too, if friendship can, however farfetched the idea is to Cas. Thinking about Sam once again points his thoughts back at the Roadhouse.

Cas slams a fist in the back of the seat in front of him with a frustrated curse, making Balt flinch and edge a bit further out towards the aisle while eyeing him warily. Cas, world shut out by his music, ignores him and turns his attention back to his phone, screen now gone black. He pushes the button to wake it and slides his finger over the screen to unlock it, once again revealing the picture of Dean's perfect, sleepy smile.

Dean might have flaunted his interest with that once over, but he’s Cas’ best friend's older brother, which makes the situation a little delicate. It requires discretion. He’d doubted the man would make an open move on him in front of his brother. They'd have to be covert. He sat down beside Dean, making sure their legs touched, but still left room for Dean to remove his own leg if he chose. He didn't. He kept brushing Cas 'accidentally' with his arm. If Cas had any doubt of his wishes they were gone by the time he was slotted back against Dean's chest and the man put his head on his shoulder, calling him out on getting goosebumps by their touch and then proceeded to stare at Cas' lips when he licked them. He’d felt Dean swallow thickly and seen how he blushed from it. Basically a green light!

Cas opens the camera gallery and scrolls to the selfie he took with the brothers just moments after. He zooms in on Dean's face. There’s no doubt about it. His cheeks are distinctly tinged pink and his pupils are expanded. Cas hadn’t misread that.

And then when they were up and mingling Dean had tracked his movements like a bloody hawk! Touching him whichever way every time they were close. An arm around the shoulders, a hand in the small of his back or on an arm. Seemingly innocuous, but too much and too often not to be deliberate. Cas made sure to stave off any interest from others that came onto him, making sure Winchester didn't think he blew him off.

Still, by the time Pamela cornered him he was slightly out of patience and considered backtracking on his decision to sleep with his rival. Winchester came down forcefully on the opposition at the first sign of him losing interest. It was thrilling, having him posturing like a peacock to secure Cas for himself. Hot like Hell. As the night wore on, Dean sought his gaze and held it over and over. Cas was just waiting for him to nod towards the doors, a sign for him to follow. When suddenly, out of nowhere, Dean blew him off to make out with some slut on the dance floor! Just like that! All that time and Winchester had led him on. And he’d _let_ the man do it, which probably is the worse part. Humiliating. Failure is never an option, yet he’d let Dean set him up and shoot him down like a willing victim. Maybe that was to be expected given their history so far. But that would have indicated thought through planning that doesn’t correspond with how Cas had gauged the man's character to be like. Thinking on his feet, impulsive, rash. Not spiteful and manipulating in that manner. Especially not as Cas and Balt were there as guests of his little brother, celebrating Free Will's latest victory, which in itself was a peace laurel of great proportions if he'd understood the dynamics of the twin towns.

Cas more or less stormed out of there, got into his car and cleared the one hour drive to the nearest city in 35 minutes. He'd found a dance club and vented by dancing to techno music all night and hooking up with some unknown stranger against a wall.

He felt humiliated, angry, annoyed, disappointed and... _wounded_. He actually felt hurt by Dean's actions and that in itself is so strange. _Why_ does the bloody bastard keep getting under his skin?!

He goes through the events in his head over and over and still he’s sure he hadn't misread Winchester. There’s no good reason for Dean to act dickish like that unless...

...Unless he isn't aware he’s doing it? 

It hits Cas how often Sam has brought up their father's rigid and bigoted world view. Cas has hung out in circles where fluid sexual orientation is not only accepted, but almost expected. With people like Balt around it’s easy to forget how brutally some people are brought up to believe same sex physical interactions is wrong and sinful. And even if that attitude hadn't rubbed off on Sam, it doesn't mean Dean isn't working under harshly repressed feelings of his own. He might actually be so deep in denial about it, that he isn't aware of the neon signs he’s putting out.

Oh.

_Oh_!

That makes sense! If that’s the case... that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. It certainly takes the sting out of the rejection. Not only that, it gives him a tool, an extra edge, to mess with Dean's head. This could be fun! Yes. He could definitely use that!

Cas removes his earphones and leans towards the aisle and his team mates.

"Hey! Any of you guys know if they serve good breakfast at the hotel we'll be staying?" he asks, now smiling.

"I take it this means this morning's ' _Horror Hours_ ' are over?" Balt asks dryly, implying Cas' re-occurring morning temper, making the others laugh.

Cas shrugs good naturedly. So what he gets a bit moody in the mornings? He's not _that_ bad.

* * *


	12. Children please, play nice will ya?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is a sore loser, Dean holds something secret from Sam, and Lucifer and Dean run in to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description of violence.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**SORE LOSER**

* * *

[ _21:05 AM Incoming call: Cas_ ]

"Hey, Cas, what's up?" Sam chirps.

Dean yells in the background; ‘Ask him how the game went!’

"Hold on, Cas, I'm putting you on speaker. Dean wants to speak to you to." Sam puts the phone on speaker and holds it so Dean too can be part of the conversation. Dean comes closer to hover. "Sorry that we missed the game, Cas. We were also playing. How did it go?" Sam asks.

"It sucked!! We sucked! They sucked even worse!!! But apparently someone in their team had sold their soul to a demon because they won!! We bloody lost! !! 1-0 to a bunch of losers in plaid shirts!"

Sam laughs.

"Hey! Don't say that! _I_ wear plaid shirts!" Dean protests, looking utterly insulted.

"I _said_ **LOSERS** , Dean! But if you feel so strongly affiliated with that term, feel free to count yourself amongst them!"

Sam laughs harder and Dean sputters. "You're the loser, _loser_!"

"Apparently!! I―" Cas cuts himself off to take a deep breath. Then another one to calm himself down. "Enough about our catastrophe against the Lumberjacks. You played Windy Coast right? How did you fare?"

" _We_ won, of course. 4-5, I did two of those goals."

"Good job, Dean! I'm happy for you.... Or not right now, but I will be once I get the urge to pound my team members heads repeatedly into walls out of my system."

Both brothers laugh.

"Dude! You really don't take defeat well! I scored one of those goals too. Victor and Ash also netted one each."

"That's great, Sam! Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go drink myself into unconsciousness. Talk to you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, take care, Cas!"

"Advil! Don't forget to leave a glass of water and advil by the bedside before you pass out, Angel!"

[ _Call ended_...]

* * *

**YES TO WHAT, ANGEL?**

* * *

_Incoming texts...._

**Dean Winchester 08:01 AM:** _Breakfast for Champions, Cas!_ [ _Picture included:_ Depicting a plate full of eggs, waffles, bacon, fried tomatoes, sausages, and meatballs. And a bowl full of fruit-salad on the side.]

**Sam Winchester 08:13 AM:** _'Champion' apparently...._  
[ _Picture included:_ Depicting Dean looking startled at the camera, his mouth so full he can barely close it and cheeks puffed out from all food they contain.]

**Cas 08:14 AM:** _You just saved this morning from being horrid, Sam. I thank you for being the brother that you are to your brother! From the bottom of my heart._

**Dean Winchester 08:15 AM:** _Dude! Did he send to you too??? He's laughing in a very disconcerting way._

**Cas 08:16 AM:** _If you're referring to the picture of the cute hamster, then yes. ;)_

**Dean Winchester 08:17 AM:** _Man! I'm gonna strangle him!_

**Cas 08:18 AM:** _Please don't. I only have one best friend. Good friends are hard to come by. Besides, you looked... endearing._

**Dean Winchester 08:19 AM:** _Dude! Are you mocking me or do you find me endearing?_

**Cas 08:19 AM:** _Yes._

**Dean Winchester 08:20 AM:** _Yes to what?_  
 **Dean Winchester 08:22 AM:** _Yes to what Angel? Come on!_  
 **Dean Winchester 08:25 AM:** _Wingboy?_  
 **Dean Winchester 08:26 AM:** _???_

* * *

**WHO ARE YOU TEXTING?**

* * *

Sam enters their hotel room carrying Styrofoam boxes containing their take away dinner, and puts the key card on the desk. Dean lies on one of their beds reading a thick book. San throws a glance at the title and then does a double take.

"Dude! Are you reading a book on chess strategy?!"

Dean looks up with a blank expression and then goes back to focus on the book again. "Yeah. What about it?" he answers offhandedly.

"Huh. Um... Nothing. Just that you haven't touched that game since dad made you play it. I thought you hated chess," Sam says and puts down Dean's dinner on his bed. His brother responds with a non-committal sound and keeps on reading.

Sam crawls up on his own bed to eat, when his phone chirps for an incoming message. He takes the phone from where he has left it on the night stand. It’s from Cas. A silly picture of a cute kitten with a funny message underneath. Sam chuckles and types out a reply.

"From your Angel BFF again?" Dean asks with a sideways glance.

"Yeah. He sent me a lolcat," Sam answers distractedly while typing.

Dean rolls his eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh. "Gods, Sammy! Could you two _be_ any dorkier?! I can't believe I'm even related to you!"

Sam just chuckles and adds a note about his brother's reaction in the text before he hits send and goes about eating his dinner. Cas is part of their life now. Whether they are away in different cities to compete, or at home. Sam really likes the guy! It feels like he can tell Cas anything without being judged about it. Usually when Sam lets things slip about their childhood, people would act horrified and react with pity, then start to treat him like he is made of glass. Cas just takes it as another fact and proceeds to share tidbits of his own past. By now the only reason Sam’s holding back is Dean. It wouldn't be right to share so much about his own past when it’s Dean's also. And Dean’s acting really weird when it comes to Cas. His brother seems to hate the guy half of the time, calling him names and being generally demeaning when talking about him. Half the time he isn't. He keeps asking about Cas, prodding about what they'd done and how Cas had reacted and stuff. Sam thinks it must be the rivalry between them and thinks they'd get along famously if Dean would just get over the fact that the dude is an Angel and give him a chance. Their bickering is hilarious to listen to the few times they speak. And Sam has to admit it’s kinda funny to feed Cas with ammunition against his brother. His friend never used it in a cruel way, and it’s fun to share a few laughs about his brother with his best friend.

Dean's phone chirps. He immediately puts his book down and digs the phone up from his pocket. Then his brother _giggles_ (!), making Sam's head snap around to stare at him. He’s typing a reply to the message with a silly smile on his face, tongue poking out between his teeth.

"What was that?"

Dean throws a look at him like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, cheeks colouring. "Nothing," he answers, a little too fast.

A grin spreads across Sam's face. "Who was it from?"

Dean scowls at him. "Nobody! Mind your own business!"

"Aw, come on, Dean! You can tell me. Is it a girl?" Sam needles. "Cuz, you know, you've been doing an awful lot of sneaky texting lately..."

Dean throws a dirty sock at him and Sam laughs.

"It's nothing, okay! Just let it rest! Bitch," he sputters and grumpily curls up against the headboard of the bed, pointedly not looking at Sam while opening the Styrofoam box, attacking his food like it had personally offended him.

"Jerk." Sam chuckles and returns to his own food, shaking his head.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to finish his food and go back to reading. A bit later Sam catches him texting again, phone hidden behind the book. This time Sam doesn’t mention it.

* * *

**RUN IN WITH THE DEVIL**

* * *

Dean heads the back way towards Singer's hardware store. Despite them being almost mid-season, Sam had volunteered to help out for a couple of hours since one of the employees is attending a wedding. Dean turns into the alley between the hardware store and the next building with hurried steps, when a shadow suddenly blocks the light in front of him. He looks up and stops dead, adrenaline shooting through his body and heart rate increasing, instantly preparing for a fight.

Lucifer stands in the mouth of the alley with a disdainful smirk and arms crossed over his chest. "Well, well. What do we have here? Little deenie-weenie out for a stroll?"

Dean's face twists into a hateful grimace and his fists clench at his sides.

"You stay the _fuck_ away from my brother, you fucking asshole!"

Lucifer tuts and lifts one hand to regard his nails. "Sammy is a big boy. He can choose his company as he pleases."

"Screw you! It's a fucking shame Michael's no longer around to keep you away from my brother―" Lucifer moves so fast Dean hasn't got a chance to react. One step forward, his wrist is grabbed and he’s yanked around and slammed chest first against the brick wall so forcefully his head bounces against it, scraping the beanie off his head, making his nose bleed. His arm is twisted painfully upward against his back in an awkward angle and he has to stand on his toes to prevent his elbow from snapping or his shoulder from being dislocated. Lucifer pushes upward and Dean bites down trying to prevent a cry of pain from escaping. Dean can't reach around with his free hand to retaliate and he scrambles for a handhold on the brick wall to try to help holding his weight up, only managing to break a few nails and making his fingertips raw.

Lucifer's other hand twists in his hair and his head is pulled back, making him arch. "You should not speak of things you know nothing about, Winchester," Morningstar says coldly by his ear. Lucifer pulls back his head back even more, gathering up momentum to slam it against the wall.

_ShitShitShitShitShit!!!_

The forward motion begins and

"LUCI?"

Lucifer halts before impact. A painful jar in Dean's neck and tug of the hair, but not the crack of his skull Dean anticipated.

"Luci, where are you? We need to get back now if we're going to make it in time for warm up!" Cas’ voice drifts from somewhere around the corner, by the hardware store's entrance. Lucifer looks to the mouth of the alley then turns his attention back to Dean.

"Saved by the bell it seems," he says and lets go of Dean who crumbles to the ground, breaths coming in ragged pants. Lucifer turns his back and walks towards the mouth of the alley but stops and turns to regard Dean, his expression one of distant curiosity.

"I can't imagine what Cassie sees in you..." he says ponderously. And after a beat he adds thoughtfully, "I guess you have your _own_ guardian Angel now." Then he turns to step out of the alley and is gone.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and twists so his back is against the wall.

" _Fuck_ ," he says into the empty alley, grabs a handful of snow to press against his nose to stop the bleeding and prevent swelling. He winces from the cold touch but his nose at least isn't broken. His pulse slowly returns to normal and his arm and shoulder throb. He can't go in to meet up Sammy before he has cleaned up. Sam will either get mad at him for fighting or get very distressed by seeing him dinged up. So he leans against the wall to process what just happened.

That last thing he said just doesn't make sense. What did he mean by 'what Cassie sees in you'? Cas is Sam's friend, not Dean's. And the way he had phrased the last sentence... The way he had empathized 'your _own_ ' and stressing the capital A in angel like they all did when they were referring to the team rather than a religious figure. Well _obviously_ he’d been referring to Cas' convenient intervention, but he made it sound like Dean isn't the _only one_ with a guardian angel on the team. If you could even call Cas that just because he happened to still Lucifer's hand this once.

"Fuck!" Dean says again, muffled by the snow in his hand. He drops the now bloody and half melted snow on the ground and takes up a new fresh handful to press against his nose.

And that’s another thing that gave Dean the shivers. Cas called Morningstar 'Luci'. Dean and Sam had witnessed Lucifer _stab_ a person for calling him that once a couple of years ago. Only Michael ever called him that and got away with it. It implies a familiarity between Cas and Lucifer that Dean doesn’t even want to think about. While Sam seems happier than ever with his new friend and that is a good thing, it also means Lucifer keeps appearing with alarming frequency. It makes Dean sick to his stomach. Lucifer is fucking creepy _and_ dangerous. Dean can't understand why Sam doesn’t try to get away from that creepy fucker when they cross paths. He still vividly remembers when he had seen Lucifer and Sam together the first time.

> _He’s walking from the parking lot towards Free Will's ice hall and spots his 14 year old brother sitting on the ground, back pressed up against the wall, face tear-streaked, dirty, and screwed up in pain and fear. Clothes bloody, dirty, in tatters. Lucifer’s crouched down on the ground in front of him, hair untidy like he's been in a scuffle, white Angel jacket and white jeans slightly dirty, expression serene. His arm is outstretched and stroking Sam's jaw affectionately. Pure sickened dread fills Dean._
> 
> _No no no! Sam’s supposed to be safe now that Dad is dead! This can’t be happening!_
> 
> _"SAMMY!" He calls out and starts running._
> 
> _Sam scrambles to his feet and comes towards him at a limping run. He throws his gangly limbs around Dean and starts bawling like the world just ended. What Dean really wants to do is launch an attack at the monster who did this to him, but Sammy needs to be comforted more than anything else._
> 
> _Lucifer slowly gets to his feet, watches the brothers for a while with an indecipherable look. He seems like he's about to speak when..._
> 
> _"You **ever** hurt him like this again I'm gonna **fuck** you up!" Dean yells to the Angel, seeing the man frown slightly at the threat._
> 
> _Sam’s saying "No no no no no," repeatedly against his chest between hulking sobs. Dean closes his arms tighter around him._
> 
> _"Hey, hey. It's okay now, Sammy. I'm here. You're safe. You're safe," he soothes and kisses the crown of his brother's hair. When he looks up again Lucifer is gone._

Since then, over the years Dean and Morningstar had gotten into several fights, none of which Dean had won. Not that he'd let that scare him from protecting his brother. But this time... This time is the first time Lucifer had attacked first. Dean’s the hot head, Morningstar is cold. Only defending himself. Until now. It was the Michael line that triggered it. The two of them had been all but attached by the hip. Lucifer always half a step behind to the left, obeying Michael’s every order. It took one word from Michael to get Lucifer to stop what he was doing. If anybody had been Dean's guardian Angel it had been him!

Dean takes out his phone and brings the camera up, switching to front camera so he can see how he looks. He has stopped bleeding and his nose isn't terribly swollen. He cleans off the rest of the blood on his face with more snow. He has a faint scrape on his forehead. He dusts off his beanie and puts it on, covering the scrape up. He looks at his image on the screen again. That'll do it. He puts the phone away, brushes off his clothes as he gets to his feet. He can say he slipped on a patch of ice and Sam won’t need to know about this. He walks out of the alley and rounds the corner to enter the shop to pick up his little brother.

* * *


	13. The joyride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas finds _the_ car and shows one of his other sides, things are not like Dean expects and Lucifer is making a slight statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Smoking?
> 
> Bah! Why does my mind not turn on its gears until after 1 am in the morning during a workday?! Didn't finish until 4 am and then the dog decided to keep stealing the blankets in bed. -.-  
> Anyway. In a couple of chapters, there'll be more hockey again and there'll be dancing. And things will slowly start to heat up.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**STEP AWAY FROM THE CAR!**

* * *

The weather has turned warm, a false spring, melting snow and drying up pathways and roads. Some unfortunate flowers poke up and dumb birds are singing. It happens more or less every winter. It will last days or weeks and then the cold tends to return with a vengeance, like it's a cruel prank. Now, though, is the time to enjoy. Sun warming skin and making it too hot to keep jackets closed. People come out on their lunch breaks to line up against walls with their faces towards the sun, eyes closed, soaking up the warmth.

Dean’s still sore from the run in with Lucifer a few days ago. Luckily he’s been able to hide the bruising that has formed on his upper arm from Sam. It didn't exactly make him positive toward any of the Angels, so when he spots someone in their white jacket squatting by one of the tires of his Baby his ire rises instantly.

"Hey! Asshole! Step away from my car!!" He yells and jogs towards his car.

Cas rises from his crouching position and turns around, eyes turning impossibly round when he spots Dean.

"This is _your_ car?!?" he says incredulously.

"Yeah! Now will you just fu―" Dean spits, scowling fiercely but is cut off before he can finish the sentence.

"She's magnificent!" Cas says, turning back towards the car and reverently strokes a hand over the roof. "So well cared for I first thought she must have been used for exhibition purposes only, but then I spied the mileage on her! I can't believe Sam never mentioned you drove a car like this. If I had a brother who owned a baby like this one I would be certain to let people know..."

Dean's anger stutters.

Because, you know...

Dude has taste.

Cas’ eyes shine excitedly as he walks around the car, cheeks colouring as he drinks in every detail. He looks up, meeting Dean's eyes. The corners of his lips quirking up in a smile. "She's absolutely beautiful, Dean! The care taken to preserve her originality, yet letting her personality bleed through. She's truly one of a kind!"

Holy-fucking- _BLUE_!

"Um... yeah... Thanks..."

What was he planning to say?  
Something about fucking the Hell off?  
Don't touch my Baby?

"You wanna go for a ride?" comes out.

Okay. _That_ was _not_ on the list.

Cas lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. Like Sammy did shooting fireworks when Dean had taken him out on 4th of July that year before dad died, and something in Dean's stomach just _soars_ for some reason.

_Christ_!

And yeah, stupid fucking blue eyes!

"I'd love to, Dean!"

It's just a car ride. What harm can it do? He’s Sam's _friend_ after all. It doesn't mean they are gonna become besties or whatever.

Dean goes around the car to the driver's seat, smirking at Cas, and opens its door.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Angel? Hop in!" He says, slides in behind the wheel and unlocks the door of the passenger seat.

Cas doesn't waste any time getting in and buckling up. He looks expectantly at Dean who turns the engine on. Baby roars to life and Cas listens to the sound, for a moment seeming lost inside his own mind, focusing intently inward, before nodding confirmation to himself.

"Sweet sound, huh?" Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning at the other man.

"Yes. This baby has a very distinctive purr," Cas agrees.

"Yeah she does," Dean coos, then they're leaving the parking lot.

* * *

* * *

**SUNDAY DRIVER?**

* * *

20 minutes later and Dean is fucking fascinated by the change in the man's demeanor. They're speeding down back roads in the forest, going really fast. Cas' eyes are locked on the road ahead, fucking _glowing_ in a predatory way, teeth bared somewhere between a grin and a snarl. Every time the car accelerates the look in Cas' eyes gets more intense. Dean keeps stealing glances at him. He looks almost... Yeah. He can't place what Cas' looks like. Not like his weird, closed off, grumpy self. _That's_ for sure.

"You're a good driver, Dean. If a bit careful," Cas says.

" _Careful_?!?" Dean sputters unbelievingly.

"Not something to be ashamed of, Dean. It's normal to be a little fearful of losing control of the car. High speed driving isn't for everyone," Cas states matter-of-factly.

_Whatta fuck man?!_

He thinks Dean's _afraid_ of going faster?!

Fuck him! He wants to see what this Baby can do? Dean will fucking _show_ him!

They're coming onto a straight stretch of the road, Dean grips the steering wheel tighter and floors it! Baby is accelerating rapidly to her maximum, shaking with the speed. Dean's adrenaline is spiking because while she might not be the fastest car on the market he's pushing her limit in these road conditions and as soon as the road starts curving again it takes every ounce of his skill and concentration to navigate her big bulk without slipping and wrapping them against nearest tree. Instead of holding on for dear life like a normal person, Cas opens his arms wide, putting one arm on the top of the backrest of the seat behind them and the other along the car door, relaxing his body to let the forward force push him back. He throws his head back with a thrilled laughter that just furthers the excitement Dean's feeling. It's like a joyride with a stolen car.

The next straight stretch of the road Dean chances taking his eyes of the road, stealing a glance at Cas. High colour of his cheeks, nostrils flared, mouth open in a wild grin and the gleam in his eyes... fucking _insanity_! He looks like he is somewhere between madness and arousal and his intensity is contagious. The thrill of the ride makes butterflies the size of _Mothra_ re-enact Hitchcock's 'The Birds' in Dean's stomach and when they take the next set of curves he thinks he can hear himself laugh deliriously along with Cas but he can't be sure.

* * *

Later on they have stopped by the roadside and stepped out of the car. They lean against the hood and look out over a field, still mostly covered in snow. Despite the daytime warmth it's still winter and the sun is still setting early, temperature dropping rapidly. They're both panting slightly, trying to catch their breath. Dean's legs feel shaky in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. He digs up his half-empty pack of cigarettes and holds it up, raising one eyebrow in question towards Cas who, somewhat surprisingly, nods. Dean takes out two cigarettes, puts both between his lips, digs up his lighter and lights them both before handing one to Cas.

Cas takes a deep drag, closes his eyes and tilts his head back before slowly exhaling the smoke. Dean expects him to cough.

Cas doesn't.

Dean puts the pack of cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket before taking a deep pull of his own, feeling the nicotine hit his system like a calming balm. He feels good. Liberated.

"Smoking reduces your lung capacity considerably," Cas says after taking another drag of his cig, looking out over the field and the slowly colour-shifting sky.

Now _that_ is what he expects from Cas.

"Yeah... Don't tell Sammy." Dean smiles. Cas lets out a raspy chuckle and shakes his head slightly.

They smoke in silence for a moment, just watching the sunset.

"It feels like flying," Cas says, breaking the silence. That he means the joyride is understood.

"I'm afraid of flying," Dean admits. The next second he wonders _why_ he admits it, but he doesn't get a chance to fret about it.

"I'm afraid of falling," Cas answers, getting a distant look on his face. "Falling always has bad consequences. You get hurt, punished. The price of falling is too high..." He trails off, seemingly lost in distant memories. Dean doesn't probe.

Another moment of comfortable silence passes while they finish their cigarettes.

"Funny. I always pegged you for the Sunday driver type," Dean says.

Cas turns his head and looks at him. Face turning neutral except for a tiny squinty frown. He tilts his head slightly. "I drive my car on Sundays too, Dean," he says in a dead serious, slightly confused voice.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Cas! I didn't mean..." Cas' snigger cuts him off.

_Oh_. He’s _joking_.

Dean gives him a disgruntled cuff on the head that Cas only half-heartedly avoids. Then Dean snorts in self-depreciated amusement too and shakes his head. "So Sam told me you’re gonna be busy with practise tonight. What time do you have to be back?" he asks instead, changing the subject.

Cas looks at his watch. "About forty minutes ago," he concludes.

"Really, Angel? Skipping class? _You_?"

Cas shrugs with a grin and goes back to looking at the skyline contentedly.

They end up smoking another cigarette each in comfortable silence before it gets too cold. The drive back is slow compared to the previous mad dash. They stay mostly silent and lost in their own thoughts. The atmosphere is relaxed. It's dark when Dean drops Cas off at the Garrison.

* * *

**TOTALLY WORTH IT!**

* * *

When Cas gets back most of the team is gathered in the common room. It's still not _that_ late. Lucifer regards him searchingly from his seat on a couch while he receives a scolding of a lifetime by Raphael. He takes it stoically, answering 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' when prompted to speak. Not answering at all when asked of his whereabouts. He’s ordered to go straight to the rink and do a series of exercises that will make him sweat 'til he bleeds and probably make him founder. When Raphael turns on his heel and leaves, Lucifer shocks him by slapping his thighs and getting up.

"Well then. Guys, you heard the man! Back to the rink it is," he says, causing groans and mutterings from the assembled team members.

"He didn't mean for _all_ of you to share my punishment!" Cas protests, taken aback.

"Very well," Luci concedes. "It's voluntary. Should any of you choose to stay behind, there will be no ramifications," he continues, turning towards the other guys, showing no sign of not meaning it.

Yet not one of them chooses to stay behind.

Cas probably looks like he's about to cry. At least to Luci's trained eyes. He certainly _feels_ that way! Maybe he should feel guilty for the guys, but it's a warm feeling clenching his chest instead. 

 

They all get back later that night stumbling from exhaustion. Luci stops him with a hand on his shoulder before they part ways, looks at him for a moment and gives his shoulder a squeeze. Then he goes up the stairs to his apartment without saying anything.

Cas tumbles into bed fully clothed, falling asleep almost instantly. He is happy.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. And in case you're not up to date with your movie classics, here's a YouTube clip from ['The Birds'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D15HPy4x73g).


	14. A man with a plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is a manipulative little shit. Lucifer and Cas define their relationship to each other. Dean is tricked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers in this chapter I think.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**TICKETS TO A MIND GAME**

* * *

This is almost becoming an obsession. (Who does he try to kid? It _is_ an obsession!) His thoughts keep drifting to the same subject over and over again. It’s a like a cavity in a tooth. You know you shouldn't but your tongue keeps prodding at it anyway. Dean Winchester is such a cavity. It’s become a guilty pleasure to throw the older Winchester off his game, unsettle him. It makes Cas happy to manipulate his emotions. And Cas is having fun about it. Considering how long it has been since he was happy, he thinks he deserves this.

_Why_ it makes him happy is something he doesn’t bother examine too closely.

He taps the two tickets against his desk. _This_ however, this is taking it to another level entirely. If he does this he would be acknowledging that it is more than simple rivalry going on here. At the Roadhouse he'd been buying into the idea to blow off some steam and hopefully defuse the odd effect the man has on him. He has partly abandoned that idea once he recognized Winchester's denial. Partly. Because once Cas had acknowledged to himself that he would be far from averse to sleeping with the man, he's come to realize exactly how _very far_ from averse to the idea he is! And once Cas' brain homes in on a target, it tends to lock on it. ('Failure is not an option' coming into play again. Damn his Father for that!) Granted, usually it concerns goals such as the Olympics when he was still a figure skater, or something he wants to do―rather than _someone_ he wants to do. It’s made messy by the fact that it’s his best friend's brother.

Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair, making it stand out in a messy disarray. He hates making big decisions like this by himself. He gnaws his lower lip and thinks about the joyride with Winchester he’d skipped practise for. That sheen of wildfire in his green eyes as they careered down winding dirt roads at suicidal speed in a beautiful monster of a car that isn’t built for that kind of driving. The sound of his exhilarated laughter coming out of his pink lips unbridled. The mere thought of it makes a curious feeling occur in Cas' stomach. Like a roller-coaster doing loops, steep climbs and sudden deep descends. It’s unsettling but not unpleasant.

He can't figure out if he wants to _control_ or _unleash_ that wildfire. Either way, should he decide to do so (and that's without even _thinking_ about sex) it will impact not only on Dean and Cas themselves, but might influence Cas’ relationship negatively with the two most important people in Cas' life at the moment. Sam and Luci. That is a _big_ decision to make.

Holding up the two tickets with both hands in front of him he leans back in his office chair and spins around in lazy circles while contemplating. He can still ask somebody else. Balthazar maybe? Hell, even Lucifer might accompany him if he asked! He’s sure Sam will say yes in a heartbeat despite lack of interest, he’s just that good of a friend. All of them will give him an easy out if he doesn’t want to follow through with the impulsive notion that made him buy two tickets instead of one. However.... He doesn’t want an out. Ever since Sam had let slip that Dean wanted to become a dancer when he was young, the idea has gnawed at him and now an opportunity has presented itself.

He purses his lips thoughtfully and flicks the tickets against his chin in a repetitive motion. Tilting back his chair as far as it will go he stares unseeingly at the ceiling. His friendship with Sam is by now met with silent approval by Lucifer. This doesn’t mean he will approve of friendly overtures towards the older Winchester. After all, the two of them hate each other! Cas doesn’t want to fall out of Lucifer's good graces. Not now when Luci is connected with a strong sense of ' _home_ ' tied to the Captain himself rather than the team.

His Captain had never asked why he skipped practise that day, yet he’s sure Lucifer knows. (He seems to know _everything_!) So really, if he wants to go through with this he should bring it up with his Captain as to not incur his wrath. Even if it does mean he'll have to broach the subject of _never-ever-to-be-mentioned-upon-pain-of-death-_ Sam Winchester as Balt had warned him of. He shudders in apprehension and sits up straight in his chair, putting the tickets on the desk in front of him.

Coming to the conclusion that he'll need Lucifer's permission to pursue this line of action, strangely brings him a measure of content calm despite the apprehension of bringing the subject up. The decision is out of his hands. He needs permission but more to the point, he needs help.

To get the older Winchester to come with him will require a great deal of deniability on both their parts. A straight out request will be met with a flat out 'NO!'. Cas is sure of it. So a string of coincidences will be needed to be put in motion. And coincidences don’t just happen by coincident. So help will be necessary.

Cas gets up from the chair and puts the tickets in a pocket in the back of his jeans, a gleeful grin spreading on his face. Then he leaves his room to go find Lucifer.

* * *

**A STRING OF COINCIDENCES**

* * *

_Two weeks later....._

Dean groans and swats at his phone as it blares out 'Heat of the Moment' by Asia, signalling that Sam’s the caller. He manages to hit the red phone receiver on the display and sinks back on his pillow with a tired groan, hoping Sam will get the hint.

No such luck. Seconds later the phone rings again and this time he answers, annoyed. "What, Sammy?!"

" _Dean. Have you still got your suit?_ "

Dean opens his bleary eyes and glares at the clock on his night stand. 2:14 PM. A light headache throbs behind his eyes.

"You woke me up after an all-nighter to ask me about my wardrobe?" he rasps out, voice rough from sleep.

" _Yes. No. I need..._ "

Dean cuts him off. He scrunches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, Sammy! We have the weekend off, and you know I didn't get any sleep at _all_ last night! Why are you calling?! Weren't you supposed to play with your new Angel BFF all day today anyway?"

And that was another thing. Sam's bromance with the newest player of the opposing hockey team. It’s not exactly kosher to hang out with the rival team members to begin with. But this guy is weird as Hell and one of Lucifer's cronies to boot! Dean can’t get a handle on him.

" _That is why I'm calling, Dean!_ " Sam says with an exasperated tone. Then his voice shifts to something with more urgency laced through it, pleading and placating. " _I need a big favour._ " He hesitates to go on.

Dean heaves a sigh and opens his eyes. He scratches his chest absentmindedly with the hand not holding the phone. "What do you want now Sam?" he asks tiredly.

" _Um... I need you to take my place, and to drive Cas to the city and back..._ "

"What?!?" Dean sputters and sits bolt upright in the bed.

" _Yeah. Please, Dean. Listen to me. I promised him I would accompany him. The tickets to the show are expensive and it's too late for a refund. None of his teammates can go because they need to apply for permission to skip practise at least a couple of days in advance unless it's an emergency. Both Jake and Crissie came down with a stomach bug and Bobby is busy in the garage so I have to work. Plus Castiel's car broke down and Bobby says it won't be fixed in time. Look Dean, he's my_ friend _, and I'd feel really bad if he would miss out and waste money just because everything seems to go wrong today. He's been looking forward to this for weeks! Please will you do it?"_

Dean flops down on the bed again under the onslaught of desperate words, and drops the phone on the pillow beside him. He flips over to bury a groan in the pillow but immediately recoils from a heavy stench of perfume. Last night's conquest had worn way too much of that hideous smell. It had been bearable while he was drunk and horny, but now, without a beautiful body to make up for it, he finds it slightly nauseating. He flips onto his back again and grabs his phone. "Let me get this straight; You want me to dress up in a suit and babysit your Angel _plus_ act like his private chauffeur all day? All because a bunch of shitty coincidences?" he asks in a resigned voice. Now that he’s registered the perfume he can’t un-smell it. He'll have to get up and change the bedding. 

" _Um... Basically, yeah. So you'll do it?_ "

He swears he can hear his brother's hopeful, pleading puppy eyed expression. Fuck. Why not? He'd have to get up anyway so this day is already ruined. He heaved another sigh. " _Fine._ I'll do it. But you owe me big time!" he answers.

" _Thanks, Dean! You're the best! I knew I could count on you!_ " Sam practically beams with relief through the phone. Then he proceeds to give Dean the details of when and where to pick Cas up. After they hung up Dean changes the bedding immediately.

* * *

**IT'S NOT A DATE!**

* * *

Cas smooths out the front of his black tailor made suit jacket and adjusts his bright blue tie in the mirror. As he pats down a stray lock of his otherwise neatly combed hair Lucifer comes around the corner and leans nonchalantly on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a small amused smile playing on his lips. "Look at you. All dolled up and pwetty for your date," he teases.

Cas rolls his eyes and glared at him. "It's not a date, Luci!" He protests, exasperated.

Lucifer chuckles and saunters up to him. He pulls something out of his pocket and proceeds to put it―a silver and sky-blue tie pin with the Angels HC crest on―on his tie. Then he grabs Cas arm, pulls up his suit sleeve and puts a matching cuff link on his shirt. As he smooths the sleeve back down and goes to do the same on the other arm, Cas suddenly feels vulnerable. His chest feels oddly warm and constricted. He looks down on the floor boards. He feels the merest hint of a shy smile tug at his lips. He chances a glance at Luci and finds him looking at him from under his heavy lids, one eyebrow raised in question, obviously feeling the shift in the atmosphere.

"I feel like I'm being doted on by an older brother," Cas admits, feeling embarrassed.

"You ever had any siblings?" Lucifer asks and looks at him appraisingly.

Well. _That’s_ an odd way to pose the question. Not exactly standard to use past tense when inquiring about someone's family.

"I came here because my sister died and I was the closest living relative, thus her heir. But she wasn’t born yet when our parents split up, and I never met her in person."

Lucifer holds his gaze for a moment and then suddenly his eyes sparks with humour. He dusts imaginary lint from Cas' shoulders and says, "In that case, little brother, go give Winchester the mind fuck of his life! I want him so off balanced and distracted that he forgets what he's meant to do with a puck whenever he sees you."

Balthazar pops his head around the corner. "Romeo is here! And, Cap, we need to hurry or we're going to be late for practise!"

Lucifer raises an arm that Cas swiftly ducks away from, anticipating the action. "Luci, if you ruffle my hair I swear to God...!!" Cas scolds and pushes past his two teammates. This entices a genuine laugh from Lucifer.

"Make me proud, little brother!" He calls to Castiel's retreating back.

"Oh I will, Luci! I will!" Cas yells back as he takes the stairs down to the ground floor two at the time.

* * *

**ROMEO IS HERE**

* * *

They drive in silence. Cas had stroked the Impala's dashboard affectionately as he got in and then proceeded to lean back and look out the passenger seat, appearing for all the world to be totally at ease. Barely even gracing Dean with a glance, and sporting a small secretive smile. Like he’s thinking of a joke that Dean isn't in on. Or worse, the butt of. It makes Dean feel increasingly uneasy and jittery as the silence wears on. He keeps throwing sidelong glances at his passenger.

"Eyes on the road, Winchester," Cas suddenly says without looking away from the window.

Dean huffs an annoyed breath. Embarrassed at being caught staring. "I _am_ watching the road, dammit! Where are we going anyway? You look fucking expensive!" Dean retorts defensively.

And he does look expensive! Cas came out of the house with a confident, businesslike, straight-backed swagger, and an air of a man that owns the world. He could have been a millionaire executive in a world wide cooperation judging by the nonchalance and posture. The suit he wears must have been made for him, accentuating slim hips and fit body. The blue hues of the shirt and tie caught the colour of his eyes and makes them seem a radiant blue. (And why the hell would he even notice that?!)

Before Dean even had registered doing so, he found himself holding the passenger seat open for Cas like it was the natural order of things, getting a curt nod in acknowledgement as Cas gracefully slid into the car. Dean was left feeling bumbling, awkward, and in a foul mood.

Now Cas looks at him. "Sam didn't tell you?"

"No. ...or he might have. I dunno. I zone out when he talks about you," Dean concedes, trying to sound bored to regain some balance between them.

Cas just chuckles. Apparently not falling for it. "It's not of import," he says instead of answering. "I truly appreciate you doing this, Dean. It means a lot to me."

"Dude. I'm not doing this for you! I'm doing this for Sam. And don't you think otherwise!"

"Whatever your motive is for agreeing to this, my gratitude remains equally great and heartfelt," Cas insists with a smile, then returns to looking out the window.

Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel irritably and glares at Cas.

"Eyes on the road," Cas says yet again without looking at him.

Dean rolls his eyes.

_Fine_. No talking then! Dude's a douche anyway.

Dean pushes play on the car stereo and turns up the volume, letting classic rock drown out the silence the rest of the way.

* * *

They park the car and walk to the old opera house when Dean spots the big posters proclaiming tonight as opening night for the guest show and finally realizes what they are about to see.

"Dude! You took me to see _ballet_!?! Two hours of watching men in pink tights and tutu skirts prance around like girls?! No fucking way!" Dean hisses somewhere between an indignant outcry and a whisper, trying to keep his voice down as to not insult the other show goers. He still receives stink-eyes from people standing close by. 

He looks mildly terrified and Cas has to mentally slap himself not to erupt in a fit of giggles. Instead he schools his face first into an expression of forlorn pleading and then a moment later he lets it warp into a neutral expression. Lingering on the first one just long enough for Dean to think it’s a slip of his real emotions. "I highly doubt they will be wearing tutu skirts, Winchester. Or pink, for that matter. But it's too late for refunds for the spare ticket now. I'll make it up to you by treating you to good food and drink afterwards," he says.

Dean hesitates and casts dubious looks between him and the grand entrée doors. Seconds tick by and for a moment it seems like he’s going to say no so Cas blunders on. "Think of how ruthlessly you can taunt me in front of your teammates for my... 'girlish' ...interests, if you come," he argues, using air quotes and all, meeting Dean's sceptical gaze squarely. Dean just snorts. 

Alright. Time for the big guns then.

"Sam will ask you about it when we come back," and then, breaking eye contact, flicking his gaze to the pavement and letting his shoulders drop a bit in an act of insecurity he quietly says ".... _Please_?"

Dean throws his hands up in defeat and rolls his eyes. "Fine! I'm coming!" He gives in, exasperated. 

Cas gives him a bright smile before turning and leading up the stair. Dean follows him a few steps behind, grumbling quietly to himself all the way to their seats. Cas doesn’t even bother holding back the self satisfied smirk as they walk. Dean can’t see it anyway.

Dean sits down with a scowl on his face, giving him sour looks that Cas pretends not to notice. But once the lights dim and the curtain is drawn, it changes. Cas keeps watching Dean out of the corner of his eyes. It doesn’t take long for Dean's features to smooth out and change into something of wonder. And about 15 minutes into the show Cas no longer bothers trying to hide his staring. Dean’s oblivious to the world, entranced by the performance. Mouth slightly agape, eyes wide open and emotions flickering across his face in tandem with the plot of the show. Cas just watched the gruff exterior of Mr. Macho man melt away into something open and vulnerable, and he’s fascinated by the change. As the end of the show nears silent tears make their way from Dean's eyes across his cheeks. Somebody is dying on stage and their secret love interest is left to mourn the loss forever, without even getting to confess that the love is reciprocated. Dean is so unlike Cas. So ruled by emotions and passion. And Cas marvels at seeing it laid bare here in the darkness. Suddenly Dean flicks a glance at Castiel and Cas quickly directs his focus to the stage.

When the dancers come out for a round of standing ovations Cas is aware that Dean tries to discreetly dry his eyes and compose himself. Cas pretends he doesn’t notice and turns his back to Dean when the lights come on, leading the way out in silence. After all, the point is not to humiliate the older Winchester. But to throw him off balance and mess with his head. It’s cold and clear outside, but the restaurant Cas has chosen for the purpose is just around the block, and by the time they get there Dean has regained his mask of cocky confidence.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. I just realised that the show they saw might be a nod to canon Destiel. ^^


	15. Let me paint you a picture...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is still going as planned. At the restaurant, Cas improvises and lets the conversation guide his actions. The power of suggestion is a useful tool and words are chosen with meticulous care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings.  
> \- Mentions of mental child abuse.  
> \- Dean/Other, Cas/Other (kind of) - Do NOT be scared away by that! It's a Destiel scene.  
> \- Possibly Slight Dub-Con?  
> Please, do tell me if what happens to Dean is to be considered dubcon so I know if I should add that to the tags.  
> \- Dom/Sub undertones  
> \- Drunk driving. Do NOT drink and drive!  
> And do NOT drive when too tired. Your judgement is greatly impaired by both those things and I do not condone of it even if our 'heroes' in this fic gives no fuck about it okay?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**AT THE RESTAURANT**

* * *

Expensive, no, scratch that. _Fucking_ expensive seems to be the theme for the evening! The hum of the piano bar/restaurant is muted. Bunch of classy rich people sit by about half of the tables along the walls. Frosted glass dividers with discreet rippling patterns ensure each table of privacy and the walls hold real paintings from contemporary renowned artists. The floor is covered with a thick, rich carpet, apart from a dark polished hardwood dance floor by the piano in the middle of the restaurant. There is a comfy lounge bar in the back and a glossy glass/chrome bar opposite the entrance.

Cas―the _fucker_ ―actually pulls out the chair for him when they are shown to a secluded table by the wall. Then proceeds to order two large tumblers of the 1966 Macallan like it’s water. It tastes good. Well it _should_ , consider how friggin' pricey it is! Dean has tried to sip it with the same nonchalant ease that Cas does but ends up draining it way too fast. Cas just catches the eye of the waitress, raises one finger in the air and then discreetly points at the empty tumbler, and before Dean knows it, he has a new full one. He barely even had the time to notice the waitress making the switch.

Now Cas is reclined in his chair, one arm draped over the back of the chair beside him, the other holding the tumbler, and one ankle hooked over his knee. His head is tilted and the same little private smile as he had in the car, plays on his lips. He’s studying Dean and Dean’s studying the menu. ...It’s in fucking _FRENCH_! And no prices are written out which means expensive as Hell. Now Dean can read French and some of the dishes look mouth watering. Especially the tender loin. His eyes keep drifting back to that course while he tries to figure out what it costs. By all means, Cas is buying but this is just ridiculous. He’s waaay out of his comfort zone now for sure, while Cas has this jet set 'like-a-Boss’-routine down to perfection.

"You're staring. Stop it. It's creepy," Dean says. 

Cas just smiles wider but doesn’t stop staring. "Relax, Dean, you're fidgeting."

"Yeah, well. This isn't exactly my natural habitat," he answers. Trying not to snap and failing. 

Cas chuckles. "It is not mine either." Humour laces Cas’ voice. Now that answer makes Dean look up from the menu and arch a sceptical eyebrow. He finds that very hard to believe at the moment.

"I can act," Cas elaborates, smile spreading wider. "So can you, if you put your mind to it."

Dean snorts and tosses his menu to land on top of the menu on the table in front of Cas. "Yeah? Well, I can't read this shit so why don't you get your _act_ together and order for us, will ya?"

Cas inclines his head in a gracious nod and catches the attention of the waitress again. He orders the tenderloin for both of them, rare for Dean and medium rare for himself, without actually asking Dean's preferences. It’s of course spot on which is a little unsettling. He also orders a red wine to go with the food. Dean doesn’t really listen. He sips his scotch and watches Cas interact with the pretty blond waitress. Is he... _flirting_ with her? He says something that makes the girl smile and blush. It makes Dean wish he’d been paying attention. He had somehow pegged down Cas for asexual. The liquor has started to take effect and Dean feels the warmth spread from his belly, relaxing him just a notch. 

When the waitress moves away giggling and casting glances back at Cas, Cas turns his attention back to Dean. "Take off your suit jacket and drape it over the chair next to you, Winchester," he says and leans forward on the table.

"Why?"

"I want you to be relaxed, Dean. I want to enjoy tonight's experiences as this is a rare treat I don’t indulge in often. To fully enjoy it, so must you, or your nervous energy will spill over to our surroundings. Clearly, you do not feel appropriately comfortable in your current outfit, thus you shall alter your appearance slightly to feel more at ease. So, take off your suit jacket." Cas face is serious, no nonsense tone in his voice and Dean finds himself obeying. He's rewarded with a pleased smile.

"Good," Cas purrs. "Now, roll up your shirt sleeves to your elbows."

Dean does so, locking eyes with Cas. He can feel a bemused smile tugging on his lips. Cas regards him with his intense blue eyes and drains the last of his scotch. Dean mimics him. The scotch creates a pleasant buzz in his body and oddly enough he _does_ feel more relaxed now, and less like he’s playing dress up.

"Perfect. Now _that_ looks more in line with your personality, Winchester," Cas says and leans back in his chair, draping an arm over the back of the chair beside him again. "The two of us are easily the most attractive men in here tonight. I know it and you ought to know it too. I might have failed to mention it before, but that maroon shirt is very complimentary to your looks. And that cream-pearl tie goes very well with it." Cas grabs the tumbler from the table and takes a sip.

Hey? When the fuck did the waitress replace the empty glasses?! The service personnel here are like friggin' ghosts! Well, who's Dean to complain anyway. He's not the one paying for this shit. He takes a sip of his own refilled tumbler and leans back, copying Castiel's pose and smiles cockily.

"You find me attractive, Collins?" he says teasingly and Cas gives an amused snort. He doesn't answer straight away but gives Dean a slow once over that seems to burn the clothes off his body. Dean fights back the urge to drain the newly refilled tumbler and instead he raises an eyebrow in challenge. "Well?"

"You are a gorgeous man, Winchester. A fact that you are well aware of and that I've seen you take advantage of frequently and with great skill. Fishing for compliments from me is beneath you," Cas answers and tilts his head slightly as he regards Dean.

"And yet you just called me gorgeous," Dean states and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"If that is how you choose to interpret it, so be it." Cas answers, unfazed.

They're interrupted by the arrival of their food. Cas _is_ flirting with the waitress! Calling her sweetheart, touching her hand with his fingers and letting them linger while he smiles up at her and thanks her. Once again she blushes and giggles, giving him shy looks beneath long lashes. For some reason Dean is slightly disturbed by this. He doesn't really know why, but makes sure to keep the scowl off his face. Once he starts eating all else is forgotten, though. The food is... heavenly! The meat is so tender it practically melts in his mouth and the flavours of the sauce and everything else blends perfectly together. The word 'foodgasm' suddenly makes sense and Dean can't keep from moaning out loud around a bite. That makes Cas halt with his fork halfway to his mouth. He stares at Dean with big round eyes, mouth slightly agape.

"What?" Dean asks while he chews.

"If that is the sound you make when given good food I will have to take you to every great restaurant I've ever been at or heard of," Cas says, sounding slightly breathless.

Dean laughs and leans forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Dude, if this is the kind of food you'll be serving me, I'd let you!" He gives Cas a wink, takes a drink of the wine―which goes great with the food by the way―and dives straight back to his food.

Cas eats daintily. Cuts his food in small bite sized pieces before raising it to his mouth. Dean _devours_ his food like a starving lion. Hell, hadn't he been in a restaurant he would have licked the fucking plate clean! He manages to down two glasses of wine during his meal too. Afterwards he reclines in his chair with a sated smile, legs stretched out under the table, nursing the tumbler with scotch in his lap. Content to watch Castiel methodically finish his meal. Cas takes a sip of wine often in between bites. Apparently savouring how the flavours mix and elevate each other. By the time he is done, the bottle is empty and Cas' cheeks are slightly flushed, showing that the alcohol has started to get to him too. After the dishes have been whisked away by the ghost-like staff, Cas reclines in the same pose as Dean. Tumbler in hand in his lap and legs outstretched under the table and crossed at the ankles. This makes their legs touch slightly but the tablecloth goes down to their waists and all the way to the floor on the side facing the restaurant. You can't really see what happens under the table so Dean is not at all bothered by the contact.

* * *

"Fun fact; The choreographer of the show we just saw is not an actual dancer. He is a well renowned karate black belt, 5th dan," Cas says suddenly.

"5th dan?" Dean asks.

"Amongst people who aren't practitioners it is often believed that achieving a black belt means you've reached the highest level possible. This is not so. There are different levels of black belts too. Anyway, the similarities between dance and martial arts are substantial. Both in terms of discipline, devotion, and pain tolerance. Dancing ballet hurts like a _bitch_!"

Dean can’t hold back a belly laugh. Hearing Castiel use the word 'bitch' when in a good mood is surreal! The alcohol must be getting to him. Dean suddenly wants to see Cas hammered, just to know how much his proper use of language will deteriorate. He’s already getting more talkative too. But apart from the rosy cheeks and the relaxed posture you can't tell that he’s buzzed.

"Wait, what? You used to dance ballet?"

"My father was very adamant that I take lessons. Ballet. Ballroom dancing. Contemporary dance. Even breakdance. Also a number of martial arts. Anything that could improve my performance. As beautiful as I think it is to watch ballet, I hated doing it." He takes a sip from his scotch and frowns into the glass. "The tippy-toe thing. Made my toes bleed."

Dean chuckled. Tippy-toe. Heh.

"What? He wanted a daughter instead or did he try to turn you gay or something?" Dean taunts and Cas' head snaps back up again. He fixes Dean with a stare, frowning slightly. Then he looks away, his eyes trailing a couple being led to a table further in the restaurant.

"You don't think dancing is masculine?" he asks when he looks back at Dean.

Dean leans forward, mocking grin on his face. "Come on, Angel. _Ballroom_ dancing? How's that not a chick thing?"

Cas squints at him with a troubled frown for a while, then he looks over at the couple he’d watched come in earlier. He seems to deliberate with himself. After a while his features smooths out and a small smile tugs in the corner of his lip. He looks at Dean from the corner of his eye. "Watch me," he says, winks, gets out of his chair and glides smoothly towards the table where the couple sit.

Bemused, Dean leans back and sips his scotch. He can’t hear what Cas says to the couple, just see how he’s all poised grace and polite charm. The couple smiles at him, exchange words with him and then nods. Cas holds out his hand to the woman who takes it and lets herself be led to the middle of the dance floor. There Cas leaves her for a moment to exchange a few words with the piano player who nods and stops playing. So he’s gonna dance with some random chick and thinks that will impress Dean? This ought to be interesting.

Cas takes up position on the dance floor a couple of steps away from the woman. Straight backed, chest out, proud posture, head slightly tilted down but eyes locked on his dance partner. She too holds a proud pose, chin tilted up. She’s maybe 10 years older than Cas, and wears a red dress. The general buzz in the restaurant has died down now and the pair on the dance floor have gotten the curious attention from the other patrons.

As soon as the music starts playing again it becomes clear to Dean that Cas hadn't chosen the woman randomly. It would have been impossible. They take two fast steps forward and are flush against each other, challenging stares. Then Cas' arm curves against her back and she leans backwards like she’s melting in the middle. She snaps up, her hand on his shoulder and the other one in his hand in his outstretched hand. They proceed to dance a tango, utilizing the whole dance floor. Quick footwork alternated with pauses for slow sensual motions and lifts in time to the music. At one point they sink down low on the floor, still straight-backed but each with a leg stretched out behind them.

The dance is powerful, fucking beautiful and mind blowing. Cas looks totally dominant and badass. He fucking _rules_! This is the kind of dancing you'd expect to see in the 'So you think you can dance' finale, not on the dance floor of some random restaurant. It’s over way too soon. And the pair are met with a round of applause that Dean gladly participates in.

"Fuck, Cas! That was _awesome_!" Dean exclaims when Cas returns to their table.  
Cas sits down with a self-satisfied smirk and takes a swig of his whisky. "Thank you. I didn't lose all my masculinity in your eyes, then?" he asks, humour in his voice.

"No, man. That was badass! Who is she anyway? It looked like you'd been dancing together for years!"

Now Cas actually blushes and looks down on the table top. His smile turns shy. "She's a famous ballroom dancer. About a decade ago she and her partner won practically every competition they entered. I felt a bit like a 'fanboy' when asking her to dance with me just now. Me and my partner Meg based one of our routines on this performance so I had to learn it," Cas tells the tabletop, stupid air quotes and all.

"So you used to be a dancer then?" Dean inquires.

Cas looks up and squints at Dean, looking oddly... disappointed? Dude’s weird. "No..." he answers hesitantly. "The twin towns are not that big, are there many other cars like yours around there? The sound of Baby's engine is quite unique. But are there others that purr like her?" He tilts his head and looks expectantly at Dean.

Dean chuckled. One could get whiplash from how fast Cas changes subject. He does like that Cas called her Baby, though "Nah, man. You hear her coming you know it's her! Sweetest sound there ever was. Bobby's got a couple of muscle cars that he's restoring, but as soon as they're finished he sells them and none has ever found an owner in the twin towns, so Baby's one of a kind. What's that got to do with dancing anyway?"

Apparently Cas is pleased with the answer because he leans back and smiles, stretching out his legs under the table so they are touching again. "You're a smart man. You'll figure it out." There’s a spark in his eyes and the smile is secretive. Like he knows something Dean doesn’t and it’s funny. "So. Let's talk about why you think females are of lesser worth than men," he says suddenly.

_Christ_! Whiplash indeed! Where the _Hell_ did that come from?! Just when Dean was starting to feel totally at ease the fucker pulls a leg sweep like this?! "Jesus, Cas! That's Hell of an accusation!" Dean sputters.

"Based on your own words, though. Every time you're degrading something you'll refer to it as girly or in one way or another feminize the practise or practitioner. It's easy to jump to the conclusion that you find females to be lesser beings. Not as strong or able as men."

Dean sits up straight and takes a hefty swig of his whisky. He looks away from Cas, frowning, and rubs his neck with one hand. Well shit. Put like that it supposedly does sound like he’s a total douchebag in regards to women. A knot of unease twists his gut. Pictures of Ellen and Jo flash inside his head.

Cas sits up straight too, putting his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and leaning his chin on top of his hands. Looking at Dean without judgement, just with curiosity.

"It's not like that, alright? I know tons of totally awesome women. And I respect them okay? It's just that..." he trails off, looking for the right words. Castiel may be an Angel and he shouldn't care what any of those guys think about him. But it doesn’t sit well with Dean that Cas would presume that about him. "...My dad was an ex marine. A macho man. He raised us by himself and it was very fucking important to him that we grew up to become 'real men'."

"My father also raised me to be a real man. However, I think the view of what constitutes as a real man differentiate quite substantially between our fathers."

"Obviously." Dean snorts, thinking of the harsh punishment he had been dealt as a child for even mentioning that he wanted to dance. "So what was your dad's version of a real man?"

"Hard working, devout, disciplined, obedient, respectful, moral, resilient, versatile, ambitious, striving for perfection, never complain, never give up, always win." Cas smile is self-depreciated. "I, of course, don't live up to all those standards any longer. If my father knew what has become of me, he'd climb out of his grave to punish me, lock me up in solitude." He sighs, downs his scotch and looks down on the table again, seemingly lost in thoughts of the past. His eyes have started to get that glassy look you get from being drunk.

Dean downs his own liquor too, catching the attention of the pretty waitress who quickly comes with a refill for the both of them. They are obviously gonna get wasted tonight and right now he cares jack shit for what will happen later, or how and if they are going to make it home tonight. Right now he’s just thankful for the deflection from talking about his own father. Also, despite sensing that this is a heavy subject for Cas, he finds himself genuinely curious about Castiel's upbringing. He tells himself it’s because it had been bromance at first sight between Sam and Cas and it’s his duty as an older brother to know stuff about Sam's new BFF. One thing Cas had said before he got lost in reverie has caught Dean's interest.

"He used to do that?" Dean nudges Cas’ leg with a foot to get his attention when Cas doesn’t answer. Cas jerks upright and looks questioningly on him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"He used to do that? Lock you up as punishment?"

"Yes. He did. When I was let out he'd ignore me as if I wasn't in the room at all. This would happen if I had complained. Or shown that I was in pain after an accident. You now, not stoically walked it off. Or he'd forbid me to speak with anyone. One learns quickly how to communicate without words that way so..." he shrugs. "...'nyways. It didn't happen too often. I was a good son. I lived to make Father proud. He was not big on showing affection so a proud smile could carry me for a week. When I won a particularly important competition he'd squeeze my shoulder or pat my back. I did anything for that reward."

"Huh. Well if it makes you feel better my dad wasn't exactly big on hugs either," Dean confides with a lopsided grin.

"87." Cas grins back.

"What?"

"My father gave me 87 affectionate touches. I counted." Cas has regained his suave jet set mask again.

Dean laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. “Man, are you serious?"

"As the heart attack that ended Father's life. Yes. I'm very responsive to tactile remuneration," Cas answers with a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Cas has once again leaned back and thrown an arm over the chair next to him, legs outstretched and touching Dean's.

Dean can’t help himself. He leans forward on the table and laughs, hiding his mouth behind his hands, shoulders shaking with mirth. Seriously, Cas must be eating dictionaries for breakfast! "Dude! Sometimes it's like you're not even speaking English!"

Cas has his head tilted and his gaze slides over Dean in a slow ( _hungry_?) once over that makes Dean cringe inwardly, fighting not to show it. Cas’ smile is teasing. "In short; I like to be touched," he says and raises a suggestive eyebrow, his blue eyes locked on Dean like a predator. Making it clear he was no longer talking about his father.

Dean doesn’t know how to react, keeping his smile plastered and hoping he doesn’t come off as uncomfortable as he feels. He takes a sip of his scotch trying not to fidget. But then Cas’ expression changes and Dean is left wondering if he’d just imagined it all.

Cas goes on speaking again. "After Father died I lost my girlfriend Meg to a car crash only two months later. I did not take it very well..." Castiel's outwardly relaxed appearance doesn’t change, but there’s pain in his eyes.

"Fuck I'm sorry, Cas," Dean says, meaning it.

"You lost your father too. How?" Cas asks.

Dean shifts in his seat. He looks away from Cas. "Um..." his eyes flick to the left. "Dad was drunk. He fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand and, well you can figure out how that went." He scratches his nose and looks back at Cas. Cas’ gaze is so intense, like he can see inside Dean's head. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick and he shifts in his seat again. The silence drags on for what feels like hours but probably is just a moment.

"Yeahuh," Cas says at last, like he doesn’t believe Dean for a moment, but he continues talking. "I loved both Father and Meg dearly and after being drilled mercilessly in obedience since I could walk, I was lost without guidance. Filled to the brim with grief and anger. No. _Rage_ would be the correct word. Without anyone to order me around I soon found out my moral compass is all over the place." Cas is still smiling, but his gaze has sharpened. He studies Dean. Wary, measuring, gauging his reaction.

Dean feels like he’s being tested. If Cas doesn’t believe Dean about his dad's death... He doesn’t _know_ already, does he? Nobody except Gabriel knew, and he wouldn't have told anyone. Something is up. Something else.

"What did you do?" Dean asks. Desperate to get away from the subject of his father and the circumstances of his death.

"I drifted. Conning my way forth, indulging in violence, various substances, and fornication."

Once again Dean has to laugh, not believing what he’s hearing. Cas―awkward, stiff, proper, dorky, oblivious to come ons, creepy stare that could make anyone's skin crawl―the idea is absurd! Except for tonight.... It’s like he’s a whole other person. And there had been that odd behaviour when he'd taken Cas for a joyride in his Baby... But still. He uses the word 'fornication' for Christ sake! So maybe he has conned people but no way he was anything but a virgin.

"I'm sorry, Cas, but I find that hard to believe!"

"Which part?" Cas asks with a small smirk, eyes still sharp and locked on Dean.

"Basically, all of it. But seriously, you mentioned a girlfriend. I still find it hard to believe you ever _had_ sex to begin with. Girls were throwing themselves at you at the Roadhouse and you didn't even notice!"

Cas lets out an amused snort. "You presume that because I didn't acknowledge their interest?" he lifts an eyebrow questioningly, a spark of humour glinting in his eyes. "In reference to a recent occurrence I shall have to―a bit ruefully I might add―agnize the fact that I sometimes fail to pick up on what's staring me in the face. I am, however, not alone when it comes to misjudging a person's amorous intentions towards me. I'm sure you yourself at times have experienced a degree of confusion of whether your sexual pursuit would be advisable or not?" Cas’ lips twitch like he’s trying to hold back a chuckle at a private joke.

"Well, yeah. Sure. I guess everybody has."

"Sexual release comes very far down on my list of priorities most of the time. That is not an indicator of lack of understanding of human courting rituals. I'm not a slave to my urges, Dean. I simply choose the time and place to indulge them. " Cas takes a sip on his scotch and continues. "If I was so inclined, I could get anyone. I could choose anyone in this restaurant and get them to do me sexual favours of their own free will. I'm that good." Cas eyes are still sharp and locked on Dean. He says it matter-of-factly with a small smirk.

" _Really_?" Dean can’t keep the amused scepticism out of his voice.

Cas puts down his glass, tilts his head back and observes Dean with a ponderous expression, still with the barest hint of a smirk. He raises a hand to his chin and taps his index finger lightly on his lips while he’s thinking. Dean follows the motion with his eyes. An air of suspense is building as time stretches. Cas comes to a conclusion and bites down on his fingertip, a mischievous grin spreading around it. When he removes his hand and starts talking Dean's eyes snap up to meet his again. "We are not in twin towns right now. Nobody in here has recognised us. Our seating is secluded. We are granted full anonymity. Nobody we know will find out what happens here unless you choose to tell them. This is a safe place for us right now, Dean. Can we agree on that as a fact?"

Dean’s puzzled. Cas is obviously up to something judging by the mischief he is radiating. Dean looks around the restaurant. Nobody is paying them any attention, caught up in their own conversations. The frosted glass dividers make it hard to see much of what's going on at other tables. He looks back at Cas who’s intently waiting for an answer. "Um... Yeah?"

"Good. Because of it I shall prove my skills to you."

"How?" Dean asks with mocking inflection in his voice, raising an eyebrow and smiling. He takes a sip of scotch just as Cas answers.

"I will give you a blowjob," Cas states.

**_What did he just say???_ **

Dean inhales sharply, making whiskey go down his windpipe with a sharp burn while his brain stutters to a halt. He has a coughing fit trying to find air and get the burn out of his lungs. Cas just laughs quietly at him. Looking at him leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together on his stomach and an expression of content amusement. Just as Dean manages to draw a deep breath but before he has a chance to speak Cas takes the word again.

"Not _personally_ , of course." he says in a voice that indicates that Dean is dumb for even thinking that was what he meant. "If you're hoping right now that I will go down in front of you, take your cock between my lips, work you over with my tongue and swallow you down as far as my throat will allow until you shoot your load into my mouth while I'm looking up at you adoringly, then I'm afraid you're about to be disappointed."

" _Jesus_ , Cas!" Dean's brain is happily supplying vivid illustrations of what Cas is describing, and Dean is reeling on the inside trying to get those images to go away so he can collect his thoughts into coherency.

"Give me a couple of minutes. Wait here. And when I come back, do as I say," Cas tells him and gets up from his chair. He heads straight towards their waitress, currently located by the bar.

It gives Dean a respite to regain some modicum of control of his brain and he tries to wrap his mind around what is happening. His heart flutters and he fills with anticipation. He looks towards Cas and the waitress. Cas is back to jet-set charm, warm, open smile, his hand on her upper arm, talking. Whatever he’s saying is working his way. The girl is smiling and giggling. Cas suddenly looks sheepishly down on the floor saying something with a shrug then looks up again sorrowfully. The girl is all sympathy, looks like she is comforting with words and a hand on his chest. Cas smiles again, raises his arm and strokes her cheek with a thumb. Then he looks over to Dean with a concerned expression, saying something, and the waitress follows his gaze. When they turn their attention towards each other again she is nodding. They talk for about a minute longer and Dean would have paid good money to hear the whole exchange!

Cas comes back leading the waitress with a hand on the small of her back. She smiles shyly at Dean. Dean feels awkward and blushes slightly.

"This beautiful, kind, young lady is going to help us with our predicament. Her name is Leyna," Cas introduces and the waitress gives him a little wave and a "Hi". "Dean. I need you to sit straight in your chair and pull it inward towards the table, then shuffle your hips forward a bit and let your legs fall open." Cas voice is authoritative.

"Wait what? _Right now_?"

"We do not have much time, Dean. If we take too long we might get Leyna in trouble, and you do not want that, right? We don't want her to lose her job. Just do as I say." Cas voice brooks no argument and the girl adds an "It's okay." Like she's trying to soothe a frightened animal.

He can't be fucking serious! Can he? They are in the middle of a restaurant and could get caught or even arrested!

Dean obeys Cas’ instructions anyway. Still not really believing this is happening but getting increasingly aroused by it. The absolute confidence and surety Cas is projecting, the element of risk... Dean's heart beats faster, anticipation intensifies.

The girl looks around the room and then quickly climbs in under the table on Cas’ side. She crawls in so she's sitting in between the V of Dean's legs. Cas sits down and pulls in his chair. He sits so far in his legs bracket both the girl and the outside of Dean's knees, touching them with gentle pressure. The girl strokes Dean's thighs. His dick wakes up and pays interested attention to what's happening. Cas reaches one hand under the table, presumably touching the girl.

"Take out his cock and begin stroking it hard," he instructs, eyes now firmly locked on Dean, then he removes his hand from under the table again.

Dean feels his fly being opened and then his cock is pulled out. A gentle hand caresses it and it responds eagerly. Dean feels a spark of panic and his eyes dart out over the restaurant. "Shit, Cas. We could get caught!" Dean hisses through gritted teeth.

"Look at me, Dean. We're not going to get caught."

Dean looks at Cas. He's calm and so self-assured, like it's the most normal thing in the world what's happening right now. That only spikes Dean's arousal more. This whole thing is so fucking insane. ...and hot!

_Christ!_

"I need you to be as still as you can, Dean, and keep quiet. Can you do that?" 

Dean nods, not sure if the word that would form if he spoke would be a yes or no.

"Good. I've got your back and I'll make sure you don't get in any trouble tonight. Trust me. Do you trust me?" Dean nods, a bit hesitantly. Trying to ignore the gentle hand working his cock, the butterflies that spring to life in his stomach, how hard his heart is beating.

"No. I need you to say it, Dean. Do you trust me?" Cas voice is demanding. His fucking blue eyes boring into Dean, waiting for an answer.

"I trust you." It comes out more steady than Dean would have thought. As he says it, he realises that he means it. Right here and right now in any case.

"Good. That's very good, Dean." Cas purrs. Cas demeanor is so assertive, his facial expressions are back to being barely readable, yet his eyes radiated 'pleased' as he looks at Dean. And not pleased in a condescending or mocking way. No. Just, ...pleased. And Dean likes it.

_Fuck!_

You could drown in those blue eyes!

Dean's pretty sure he currently is. Which would scare him if he'd let himself acknowledge it, but right now only 'here' and 'now' exists. He’s slightly dizzy. The intensity of the situation, the alcohol. He get's a flash of a scene from Disney's jungle book in his head, of the snake Kaa putting Mowgli to sleep using his eyes. That almost makes a nervous giggle escape his lips. He manages to hold it back. Quiet. He needs to be quiet. A fit of giggles would definitely draw attention.

Cas puts his hand under the table again, giving the girl instructions, before he removes it. Instantly a wet and warm tongue runs along the thick vein on the underside of Dean's shaft, up to the frenulum, the tip of the tongue playing with it.

"As long as you follow my instructions you have nothing to worry about. I'll take care of you. Just listen to my voice and let me handle this. Let go. I'll make it good for you," Cas says. Dean's not sure if he's talking to him or the girl. But Cas’ eyes are intent on him. The silk over gravel voice washes over him and the words make him relax. He goes along with it. It feels like the safest way. Just let it go, let someone else dictate for once. It's exhilarating.

"Good," Cas says, his hand going under the table again. Any time he gives the girl instructions he touches her instead of saying her name.

"Now flick your tongue in the slit...  
flatten your tongue out and lick all the way from the bottom of his shaft up to it's head...  
wet your lips and take the head in your mouth..."

Wet heat engulfs his cock head and Dean can't hold back a noise of pleasure.

"Perfect. You're magnificent. Beautiful," Cas praises. He must be talking to the girl, right? _Right_? It feels like he's talking to Dean, though, and right now Dean can't even remember what the girl looks like! He's so caught up in those intense, vibrant blue eyes that are looking at him like he's the most amazing creature in the world, that he can't be bothered to sort out facts. It's so fucking _hot_! The whole thing is just as thrilling as the joyride and his heart is working overtime.

"Circle the head with your tongue...no.. flatten the tongue and sink your head down over his cock.. up and down..." Cas’ voice is hypnotic, anything he says is immediately translated into sensation on Dean's cock. His eyes never leave Dean, and it's like he's reading his mind because when the mouth sucking him off does something Dean does not appreciate, Cas corrects it swiftly. He's probably just reading body language but Dean’s not aware of his own body language at the moment. Apart from repeating silent mantra of 'be still and quiet' in the back of his head. He doesn't succeed fully. Small sounds, whimpers and gasps escape him.

Cas still looks in control but he is showing signs of being affected too. His cheeks are flushed, lips redder, his pupils are dilated. Cas sucks in his lower lip in his mouth and then lets it slowly slip out again while biting down gently on it. Dean follows the show of teeth on reddened, moist flesh with his eyes and his breath stutters. Cas hand goes straight back under the table.

"Let your teeth graze along his shaft.  
Nip carefully at the cock head.. perfect.  
Now suck..."

His hand comes up again.

"So brave. You're extraordinary!" He purrs, so pleased.

Dean’s building up fast. He doubts he will last much longer. He keeps his hands on the table. He thinks anyone who'd look at him would see that he is falling apart.

"Relax your throat and swallow him down as deep as you can...  
..now hum... that's good!"

Dean's hip involuntarily bucks and he moves one hand to put it on the girl's head under the table, but Cas is faster, grasping his wrist firmly.

"No. Be still, Dean," he chastises. "This is not the time and place. Another time I'd let you bury your hands in hair, dictate movements with tugs and yanks. Fuck into the mouth with abandon. Shove your cock deep down the throat and hold it there until the gag reflex kicks in and tears stream down the face, if that's what you want. I would let you. I would let you do that, Dean. But not now. Keep your hips still."

Dean can picture it. Big blue eyes looking up at him glazed with lust and involuntary tears through long lashes. Lips stretched wide around his cock. His hands buried in dark brown dishevelled hair as he fucks the mouth and...

_ShitShitShitShitShit!_!!

Crap! Fuck! _FUCK_! What is he thinking!!! It's _wrong_!!

"Suck up and down.. increase the pace, use your hand on the bottom of his shaft...  
When he comes, you swallow everything you can, we don't want stains on his pants. Keep his come in your mouth as long as you can before you swallow and let your mouth ride his head and milk his shaft with your hand as he comes.  
He’s close now..."

Dean’s so turned on he can't think straight! He can't get the image out of his mind and he feels like he's about to explode! Cas’ voice surrounding him in a cocoon of silky gravel, the suspense of the risk of getting caught, the wet heat engulfing his cock...

"You're doing so well, Dean. Keeping quiet for me. You're perfect! Do not hold back, we don't have much time. I need you to come now, Dean. Release now."

Cas presses his knees inward as he speaks, forcing Dean to press back not to squish the girl between his legs. That causes his seating and groin muscles to clench, giving him that last shove over the edge.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut when he comes, scrabbles for handhold on the table and bites his lip not to cry out. Only a tiny whimper escapes. He is seeing fucking stars and the mouth keeps milking him as he rapidly becomes over-sensitive. He squeezes the hand he's holding, fingers interlaced, so hard it must hurt like a bitch for the other person. And when the fuck did he grab a hold of... Cas! _Fuck_!

But Cas lets go the moment Dean lets up the pressure and he’s spared the humiliation of having to explain himself and to look at Cas since he still has his eyes closed. Then the mouth on his cock is gone and he's being tucked back into his suit pants. When he opens his eyes again the waitress has crawled up and is sitting in Cas' lap.

"You're such a generous and kind girl, Leyna. I feel so honoured you chose to extend this favour to us. To be granted this gift by a wonderful and beautiful woman as yourself is more than we could ever have dreamed possible. We are truly grateful." His eyes are kind and his smile gentle. He strokes her cheek lovingly and smooths back her hair. She blushes and gives him a bright and shy smile.

Dean doesn't like it.

"I could... um... do the same to you. ...If you want," she says shyly and looks hopeful.

Cas grins and averts his eyes bashfully. He looks fucking endearing. Cute. Guys are not cute, okay? Dean wants him to stop. That dark and ugly feeling is twisting in his gut, mingling with his afterglow. He can't explain why to himself and he is not trying to either.

Cas nuzzles the girl's cheek and speaks. "That would feel like I'm overstepping the bound of my dead wife's memory... But there is one thing I'd love to be allowed to do to you, sweetheart. And that is to kiss you. Can I do that? Will you let me?" He looks at her, open and warm and hopeful. Arms around her waist. How in everliving _Hell_ can a man who just directed a full blow job manage to look so innocent??

The girl smiles warmly and nods. Cas licks his lips and leans in. It starts off chaste, then lips part and tongues meet. Cas intensifies it, licks into her mouth like he owns it, sucks on her tongue, runs his tongue over her lips, sucking in her lower lip in his mouth... She moans and clings to him. If he'd wanted she would probably allow him to fuck her on the table right now by the looks of it!

Dean’s jaw muscles clench so hard it hurts. He barely notices. He wants to rip the girl off Cas and tell her to go away. He wants Cas to stop _right now_! This is not the place to make out like horny teenagers! He's one second away from snapping at them to get a room or something, when a thought hits him that douses the flames of his unexplained anger like a bucket full of ice water and once again makes his brain activity screech to a standstill.

Shit.

He’s just come in that mouth.

.....!

Shit.

Dean barely registers how long they kiss or what they say before she gets up and goes to work again. His brain is trying to restart like a phone without enough batteries. Just blipping to life and shutting down again.

When the waitress is gone the soft expression falls away from Cas face to be replaced by an arrogant, smug one as he turns his attention back to Dean. He raises an eyebrow in a way that screams 'I told you so!' and Dean's brain finally restarts somewhat successfully. 

Dean snorts and takes a swig of his scotch.

"You're fucking insane, wingboy."

Cas chuckles throatily. He reaches out and touches the back of Dean's hand to get his full attention. "Dean, Listen carefully, one day your own choices may depend on it: You can trust me with your life - but you can not trust me to make morally acceptable decisions. I do things that are not to be considered sane sometimes." He snorts in amusement. "A public blowjob, though, is not something I'd count amongst those things," he adds, making a dismissive hand gesture, humour lacing his voice.

"So how did you get her to do it?"

"I lied," Cas deadpans.

"Yeah. But what'd you tell her?" Dean needles patiently. Genuinely curious as his anger fades away leaving only the sated feeling.

"I told her we were becoming priests and that we would take the chastity oath tomorrow. I told her my wife had died, that you were a virgin, yet to experience the pleasures of the flesh and that I wanted you to feel that before you chose to renounce it," Cas answers offhandedly.

Dean throws his head back laughing. It's absurd, ridiculous. Nobody can be that stupid!

"And she believed that?!?" he asks incredulously when he catches his breath again and sees Cas look at him with a big gummy grin and sparkling eyes. Now that is the Cas he recognizes as Sam's dorky friend! The man who'd send lolcat pics and sneak coffee into the library. His expression shifts quickly though, when Dean caught him looking like that. Shifting into an arrogant smirk.

Cas leans back in his chair and puts his arm on the backrest of the chair beside him. Once again hooking an ankle over his knee and nursing his tumbler in his lap. "I very much doubt it. But that was the excuse she needed to give herself permission to do something she was lusting for, but couldn't reconcile with the image she has of herself as a good church-going girl. She needed to feel like she was being honoured and respected despite what she did, so I granted her that. A measure of deniability. To tell herself what took place was something else entirely than what really happened, so she can still feel good about herself," Cas explains, head tilted to the side and the merest hint of a smile on his lips. Like this is some kind of private joke to him.

Dean leans forward with his elbows on the table. "Dude. That's just stupid."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean. _Come on_! You want to fuck somebody, you want to fuck somebody. That is all there is to it. There's no shame in that! Right? So why would you need to make up excuses for yourself?"

Cas face twitches like he’s fighting laughter before a solemn mask slips over it and he becomes very serious

"I could not agree more."

After that their conversation slips into hockey before Cas pays, gives the waitress a loving kiss on the forehead, and they leave. Dean leads the way to the car, Cas walking behind him.

"Dude. I'm kind of drunk. You okay with lettin' me drive you?" Dean asks, not particularly caring for the answer.

"You okay with driving?" Cas asks back, the same disinterested voice.

"Yeah."

"Well then. I'm okay with being driven. And should you slip up and drive us into a tree, at least I got to give you a blowjob before we died," Cas says nonchalantly, instantly evoking the vivid images Dean had earlier that evening. Dean sputters.

"Dude! You can't just joke about stuff like that! You're making me see wrong stuff in my head!" Dean protests.

A hand on his shoulder stops him and Cas leans up by his side until his lips grazes the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

" _Good_..." he whispers in a purr, hot breath giving Dean goosebumps.

Then he scampers off towards the car with a mocking laughter, leaving Dean spitting curses in his wake.

Fucking joke! It's all it is. He's just _joking_. The shivers are from the cold, okay?

Fuck.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the Dean/Others... If this disturbed you I might as well put in a serious warning. Similar situations may (will) occur again. Any sexual scenes that are descriptive are/will be Dean/Cas scenes at their core and others are just caught in the crossfire like here. None of them are blushing virgins so while they might fool around with other people besides each other before they actually get together - that will never be in graphic detail unless it is a Destiel scene. Just so we're clear.
> 
> 1966 Macallan whiskey. Because, you know... "Dude's got taste!". ;) 
> 
> I was not sure what dance I should pick at first. [This composition on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSF2i03JM-A) was what tipped it over to tango for me.  
> Especially the first dance. Just figured that if you needed some inspiration for the mental imagery, that's what settled mine. :)


	16. BOOM CLAP - The sound of my heart...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is awakened by his drunk brother, Dean sings and Cas thinks back on his... It was not a date dammit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -fluff? It's kind of fluffy...
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**HOOKED ON A FEELING**

* * *

Sam wakes up from the sound of keys in the door. It's dark in the living room and he has a book Cas recommended―'We Are Not Ourselves' by Matthew Thomas―resting open on his chest from where he fell asleep on the couch while reading. He takes a look on the glowing hands on his wrist watch. Nearly 3 AM. Huh.

Dean’s obviously drunk since fumbling with the lock takes more time than it needs to. Then Sam hears the door opening and closing. Dean is singing to himself so Sam grins and keeps quiet. He hears Dean drop the keys on the floor. Then his shoes are being kicked off haphazardly all the while the notes of 'Hooked on a feeling' by Blue Swede spill out from his big brother's mouth. Sam bites his lips to hold back laughter, causing his shoulders to shake. Yeah. That's his macho brother all right. Caught in a moment when he thinks he's alone. Sam loves these moments, when the alpha male act slips away and reveals his brother's soft and dorky sides.

In a way he also likes when his brother is totally shitfaced. That’s a 50/50 thing, though. Dean, when he’s utterly plastered, is prone to sweetness and honesty. Not shying away from the otherwise dreaded 'chick flick moments'. The backside of that is that when he’s that drunk he wouldn’t remember it the day after. Like his brain would filter out any honest admissions he might have done. Maybe he should warn Cas about that since they hang out so much? After all, sooner or later that will mean his friend will have a run in with 'drunk-beyond-comprehension-Dean' and Sam worries that the antagonism between them will spill over. That Dean will shower Cas with honest vitriol and that it will fuck things up for Sam. Then of course, the other thing about Dean shitfaced is that he'll turn a total pain in the ass. A warning is definitely in place.

The hallway connects straight to the living room, and the living room is separated from the kitchen by a bar counter, bar stools on the living room side, and a table on the kitchen side of it. There’s a domed doorway into the kitchen from the living room despite the lack of actual wall. Dean heads for it, throwing his suit jacket on the backrest of the couch without noticing Sam's feet sticking out over the armrest.

" _I-I-I I'm hooked on a feeling. Du-du-dum. I'm high on believing. Du-du-dum. That you're in love with me! Hooked on a fee..._ "

Apparently Dean’s in medley mode, because when he enters the kitchen he turns on the light and switches song. It’s so far from the rock music he professes to like, that Sam has to put a hand over his mouth not to squee in laughter. He can see Dean perfectly over the bar from here, his back to Sam, arms outstretched, legs wide apart and snapping his hips to the side in time with the song he was singing.

" _Boom Clap_  
 _The sound of my heart_  
 _The beat goes on and on and on and on and_  
 _Boom Clap_  
 _You make me feel good_  
 _Come on to me, come on to me now!_ "

His brother rummages in a cupboard and takes out a bottle of Seven Oaks Whiskey, taking a swig straight from the bottle. Then he continues singing and dancing, now facing the living room. Sam can't help himself. He takes his phone from the living room table, switches on the camera, shifts to recording mode and holds it up to capture his brother on film. The light from the kitchen is enough to keep the clip from being blurry. He only records Dean singing the first verse and one more chorus. 30 seconds of uninhibited behaviour. His brother’s obviously happy at the moment and Sam is curious as hell. He puts the phone away and clears his throat. Dean jumps at the sound.

" _Jesus_ , Sam! Warn a guy, will ya?!"

Sam grins at him. "Sorry, Dean. I really like it when you sing. Even if the choice of song was... unconventional to be you." And he does like it. Dean sings very well. When Dean started playing hockey at the age of 14 Gabriel had encouraged him to play guitar and sing as it was an artistic pastime Dean liked and their dad approved of, as long as it remained a hobby. It has been the birth of many good memories both with their dad and after his death. Dad would take them on fishing and hunting trips and make sure Dean's guitar was packed. As they sat by the campfire Dean would sing to them. Something he still would do for Sam occasionally if he was in a good mood.

"Hey! I rock any song and you know it!"

"Yeah you do." Sam grinned. "Are you drunk?" He could _see_ that Dean’s drunk, but to know for sure if he'd reached the oblivious-morning-after-state, the answer he gives on that question will give it away.

"Naaah! Tipsy at best. Something I plan to remedy right now." Dean winks and grins.

Not at the honest sap state yet then.

Dean holds up the bottle and wiggles it in Sam's direction. "You want some?"

Sam’s about to say no, but he’s curious about how the evening went plus his big brother is in such a good mood, so why not?

"Yeah, sure. But in a glass for me."

His brother takes out a glass from a cabinet and pours some whiskey while humming, then takes the bottle and the glass with him to the living room. He flops down in the couch when Sam retracts his legs. Once Dean has settled and given him the glass Sam stretches out his legs over Dean's lap just like they used to watch TV together when they were younger.

"So how'd it go? I had expected you to come home much earlier," Sam asks and takes a sip of the mild, blended whiskey.

Dean shrugs noncommittally, seems like he's about to say something, glances at Sam, is about to say something again and then shrugs once more. "Okay, I guess. Wasn't _that_ bad..." He looks at Sam and then grins. "Fine. Look if you tell anybody about this, Sammy, I swear to God I'm gonna pummel you! But the show was fucking awesome! You should have been there."

Sam laughs at his brother's excited smile. "I'm glad you think so, Dean. To tell you the truth I'm kinda relieved that I had to work. Cas asked me to come and he was so excited about it that I didn't have the heart to say no. But ballet is really not my thing."

"Nah, but I still think you'd have liked it. It was cool. Just gotta ask, had you told me it was a ballet show?”

"No, man! I figured you'd tease the living hell out of me if I did!"

Dean chuckles sheepishly. "Yeah. I probably would have. Hey! Did you know wingboy can dance?"

"Yes I did. His dad made him take lessons."

"Yeah but have you _seen_ him dance?" Dean's eyebrows are raised and eyes wide in wonder.

"No, I haven't." Sam smiles. So maybe his brother isn't quite in the full disclosure chick flick mode, but he sure as hell is close!

"Dude! You've missed out! We were at a restaurant and he danced a fucking tango like a pro! He ruled that floor like a master boss or sumthin'! It was awesome as fuck!" Dean blabbers excitedly, then points a finger with a stern expression at Sam. "Don't tell him I said that!"

"Of course not, Dean," Sam answers obediently. Note to self: Tell Cas Dean said that. .... Oh, and include video of him singing and dancing in the kitchen.

"Dude's weird as fuck, though. Keeps switching subjects, doin' weird stuff, joking about...um… things... I can't get a handle on 'im at all..." Dean zones out, staring into empty space, lost in thought. Sam watches, bemused. Right now Dean's the weird one.

"At least you didn't kill each other," Sam says.

"...Yeah.... _That's_ the problem...." Dean says softly, still lost in space, before he seems to remember himself and snap back. "So. Whatta ya say, Sammy boy? Boardwalk Empire marathon 'til we fall asleep?" He grins.

Sam agrees to that and Dean puts it on. It takes about 5 minutes before Dean is snoring softly. Sam sends the video and a message to Cas about how his brother seemed to have had a good time and thought he was an awesome dancer. He is surprised though that the reply comes almost instantly despite it being nearly 4 AM. Apparently Cas had a very pleasant evening as well, though he doesn't give any details. That makes Sam happy. He really wishes for his brother and his best friend to get along.

* * *

**NOT ENOUGH SUPERLATIVES**

* * *

At 2:43 AM Cas enters the doors to the Garrison, face impassive and with even steps. On the inside though, he’s skipping and doing little twirls. He feels like he’s floating on air! Everything had gone as planned to begin with but at the restaurant it switched to another track entirely. Sure, he kept messing with Dean's head, and yes, he’s sure it will make Dean distracted and off balanced when they meet but... Holy crap the man is gorgeous! And that fire he’d seen in Dean before... Spending a whole evening (It was not a date, Luci!) alone with the man has really revealed exactly how apt the likeness to fire was. Changing from burning embers to roaring flames and back again in the blink of a moment.

Cas walks to his room, takes off his clothes with care, one piece at the time, and hangs them up. He throws socks and underwear in his private laundry basket. (He hadn't been lying about what he felt about the communal detergent so he washed his own clothes and bedding nowadays.) Once he’s naked he leaves his room and goes to one of the bathrooms. He picks the one closest to Uriel's room. He prefers the one down the hall, but showering this time of night would wake Josh who’s a light sleeper. Uriel though, could probably sleep through a hurricane. He steps in the shower and turns it on, at first just standing there enjoying the wonderful feeling of warm water washing over him.

The number one key rule he and Luci had agreed upon was honesty. Whatever he says to Dean must be true, so that he'd never end up saying different things to Sam and then have the brothers discover they'd been lied to if they compare stories. That could screw up his friendship with Sam. Of course, that didn't mean he had to talk as much as he had, or disclose as many personal details. It had been a tactical move really. To get Winchester to trust him and to make him more at ease. Once he was at ease and open, Cas switched over to deeply personal, unsettling topics for Dean just to jar the man, taking over the lead himself again when Dean was about to shut down to defensive. Speaking of honesty. He’d caught Dean lying twice. First about not being able to read French. Cas studied his eye movement over the menu so he knew very well that Dean could read it. Cas doesn’t understand why he lied about that. The second lie thought, that is the interesting one. It’s about their father's death. It’s something he'd have to ask Sam about in person, so he can catch the body language.

Cas grabs the body wash and cleans himself, proceeds to wash his hair and then shuts off the water. He steps out, towels himself dry, hangs up the towel, brushes his teeth and goes back to his room. Once there he slips on a pair of tight boxers and a T-shirt with a quote from Red Dwarf on it. ('It's my duty. My duty as a complete and utter bastard' - Rimmer) He connects his phone to the charger on the bed stand and crawls into bed, still with the light on. He interlaces his fingers behind his head on the pillow and looks up on the poster. Dean. Absolutely beautiful! The way his emotions flit over his face and make him so easy to read does weird things to Cas. How he had gone from mockery to awe from just one dance without any shame. Cas all but preened under the honest praise he got from Dean when he came back to the table. The dance in itself was improvised, but it couldn't have gone better if he had planned it in advance. That the woman had entered with her partner while they were discussing dance is a slight miracle, and proved that there are gods and at least one is on his side.

Then Dean had broached the topic of sex and... Holy crap! Cas giggles out loud and twists around to bury his head in the pillow, butterflies in his stomach. Bugger! He’s well and truly inebriated right now and he has lost the plot totally! Sex was supposed to be off the table, but it _isn't_. It isn't and Dean is bloody magnificent! So beautiful and so very responsive. Cas wants him. And he wants him for real. And yes, he is obviously obsessing over the man but can you blame him?! He’d probably thrown a spanner in the works by giving Dean a blowjob by proxy. It might have been counter productive. Cas’ control of the situation once he got Dean worked up was tentative at best, because Cas had been falling apart in the same pace Dean was. Cas doesn’t think he has lusted over someone like this in his whole life! And the attraction is reciprocated even if Dean’s denying it to himself. His body sure as hell isn't lying about it!

Cas feels his own stupid grin on his face and rolls over on his back again to stare on the poster. So responsive indeed. When he described to Dean what he _wasn't_ going to do (basically what he wanted to do), Dean's pupils had blown wide, cheeks colouring, lips slightly parted and a tongue flicking out to wet his lips. His " _Jesus_ , Cas!" had sent shivers down Cas' spine. The small sounds he made and the pained expression he had when he tried to keep still and quiet... Cas doesn’t have enough superlatives in his vocabulary to describe what he thought of Dean in that moment. He’d been rock hard in his pants, so turned on it was ridiculous.

It had been hard to maintain control over his thoughts and words. First of all, he had to talk so that the girl under the table didn't fully realise all the praise and superlatives he used were meant for Dean alone. He’d been using her, but that didn't mean she should feel used. To try stave off her overhearing what she wasn't meant to hear he touched her when she was meant to listen. She was set on a task, it meant she probably (hopefully) wouldn't pay too much attention when he didn't call upon her to do so with a touch. To make sure Dean didn't think too much about her he was very careful not to use her name as long as she was under the table. He also made sure that he spoke gender neutral.

Bloody hell! The way Dean responded to being deep throated (or as good as she could do it) while she hummed. And Cas described how Dean would be allowed to grab - _his_ \- hair and fuck - _his_ \- mouth with abandon until he came down - _his_ \- throat... Dean's pupils blew impossibly wide, nearly swallowing all that beautiful green while his gaze went from Cas’ hair down to his mouth and back to his eyes. Dean had bitten his lips and made a suffering keening sound! Lord and all his blasted minions!! Cas just knew he had to get a taste of Dean then. It was stupid and risky and way too obvious for Cas’ liking yet he had ordered the girl to keep Dean's load in her mouth as long as she could just to make sure Cas could get a sample of what he wanted.

Oh but he doesn’t regret it! Noo! Because apparently one thing that turns Cas on even more than Dean under his control is Dean _uncontrolled_! What he saw in Dean's eyes when he kissed the waitress, another kind of darkness entirely! Dean is one __possessive__ bastard! Pure wildfire in the man's eyes, barely contained. The threatening anger he directed at the girl...It faded almost as soon as Cas sent the girl away. He’s possessive about Cas and that for some reason is hotter than anything else Cas can imagine! Who'd known he'd be into the thought to being claimed, owned, and guarded? Cas certainly hasn't responded to possessiveness that way before. Usually he'd be annoyed by such display. The whole thing had made his whole body tingle and his heart flutter.

When Cas told Dean what he said to the waitress and Dean threw his head back in an unrestrained laughter Cas lost control over his features and caught himself grinning at the man in utter adoration. He must have had bloody hearts in his eyes when Dean looked back at him. He hopes that slip isn't too big.

And when he told Dean about what he'd done to allow Dean (and the waitress) deniability in the situation he could barely hold back a fit of giggles. Especially when Dean called it stupid. Totally oblivious. Cas switched topic as fast as he could to something less personal (hockey) just to get his act together.

Cas phone chirps. Sam's message makes him smile and he types out a quick reply then opens the attached film clip. Dean dancing and singing, his voice spilling out of the phone's speakers. " _...You're picture perfect blue..._ " Something warm does triple axel jumps in his chest. He scrambles for his in-ear headphones in his nightstand drawer, plugs them into his phone and puts them on. Then he plays the clip again. And again. And again. And again. Until he falls asleep with a silly smile on his face.

* * *


	17. Vampires out for blood!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Luci tease Cas. The Angels play New City Vampires. Sam, Dean, and some of the freewillians watch the game on TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Mild description of violence?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**EAVESDROPPING ON A PHONE CONVERSATION**

* * *

"So what you're saying is, that if he answers that he's tipsy at best, it means that he is very drunk but still has a measure of control. But if he answers 'Yeah a bit' he's utterly swonkadoodled and won't remember a thing of what he says or does, the morning after?"

"Don't be silly Sam, a lot of people say 'swonkadoodled' about being inebriated."

"Pfft. _I_ just did. So at least somebody does, stop fussing over details! You are changing the subject! We were talking about your brother..."

"No of course not. I would never judge you due to what somebody else says or does, even if he is your brother."

"Mhm.... Uhuh. Yes...."

"So to sum it up, if I think he is being too honest as a drunk I should ask if he's drunk? If he gives me an affirmative it means he won't remember it the day after?"

"Right. I'll remember that. Thank you for the heads up."

" _For God's sake_ , Sam! Swonkadoodled is a perfectly good word to describe the state of intoxication you mentioned! Don't be such a butt-nut about it."

_*tired groan*_

"Damn it! Butt-nut is _also_ a fitting description as to what _you_ are right now. Stop laughing!... I said, stop laughing!"

"Yes... Mhm... Okay. Yes. We'll be meeting New City Vampires here at home when you're away. You're facing Lakeside Hunters right?"

"Well good luck to you too. And I'm looking forward to facing you guys next week before the break."

"Goodbye, Sam."

Cas comes out of his room and finds Lucifer and Samandriel waiting for him outside his room, both wearing shit-eating grins. "Done needling Sammy for information about your _boyfriend_?" Luci teases and Cas gives him a dark stare.

"He is _not_ my boyfriend!"

Luci closes his eyes, purses his lips and makes kissing noises and Cas responds by making an exasperated full body eye roll.

"So. A swonkadoodled butt-nut, eh?" Alfie grins and bursts into laughter when Cas slaps a hand over his face and emits a long-suffering groan.

"Not you too, Alfie! Now let's stop dawdling and let's get to the rink before we're late for warm up."

Cas stomps away ahead of the pair. Trying to ignore Luci's teasing chant of " _De-an and Cassie, sitting in a tree._.." behind him.

* * *

**WATCHING FROM AFAR**

* * *

Team Free Will are playing Lakeside Hunters tomorrow and have now settled in at the hotel they're staying at. Turns out it has a more than decent sports bar that will air the Angels vs Vampires game so Gabe, Sam, Dean, Benny, Adam, Victor, and Garth have settled in to watch it. Apart from this game and their own they are only going to face the Angels before there is a couple of weeks break in the season for holidays and some other major sports event that will totally drown out the interest for hockey. They'll be free to rest for a while except for some interviews and a major hockey special TV event right before the season starts off again. Dean's pretty psyched about getting to play the Angels. He hasn't missed one single practice and kept up with the extra time on ice. It has paid off and he is currently leading the all team's player scoreboard for the season. Sure, he’s still partying too much but hey, you gotta live, right?

He's sitting by the bar between Gabe and Benny, Sam standing behind them and the others on either side by the bar. Sam’s totally invested once the game starts, shouting at refs, booing and cheering. It's really contagious. Even Benny is howling stuff at his side.

"Aw come on, Morningstar! Why are you lettin' him be pummelled like that?! He's your star player for crying out loud!"

It's kinda wondrous really. How Sam's friendship with a player in their main antagonist team has started to spread, killing animosity between the teams. The other day he and Adam had run into Zachariah Adler and Malachi Taylor from the Angels in a gas station and they had said 'Hello' politely, bordering on friendly. It doesn’t change the fact that Zack and Mack as they are called are total douchenozzles, but still. A few months ago they would have greeted Dean and his teammate with sneered insults. It’s an unexpected turn of events.

* * *

> Cas comes skating in the middle of the rink, currently without any players around him when the puck comes flying at chest height. Instead of trying to hit it down with his stick he leaps up, catching the puck on his outstretched leg with the blade of his skate and goes down in a spinning landing, keeping the puck stuck on the skate by the centrifugal force of his spin. He curls in on himself in a crouch making him spin even faster as he brings his legs together after landing - totally befuddling the Vampire defender that came chasing the puck. He snaps up and sends the puck to Balt with a flick of his skate.

* * *

"Holy Fuck! It's like he can't even skate properly!" Dean shouts while the commentators are going mad and the move is shown on repeat in slow motion. He’s not the only one who'd shouted. Baffled expressions are all around.

"He's like an ice princess or something!" Benny exclaims.

And then all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place for Dean. "Figure skating..." he breathes out.

Gabriel pulls his, yellow this time, lollipop out of his mouth with a loud 'Pop'. "Bingo, kiddo! You _just_ figured that out?"

Dean stares uncomprehendingly at Gabe. "You _knew_?!"

"Yup!" Gabe answers and looks back at the screen.

Shit! Cas had all but told him in the restaurant. Dancing to make his routine better, competing with a partner... Even the car remark made sense all the sudden! Cas had _known_ Dean had watched him skate on the lake. That's why he'd been so shocked Baby is Dean's car. He’d recognised the sound of her engine! Of course! And now once Dean knew it, it is strikingly obvious. All those odd moves, they are only odd if you’re clad in hockey gear. Altered to be made without a toe-pick on the blade. No wonder he'd been smiling at a private joke when Dean professed to not see the connection.

* * *

_TV Commentator: ” ...Collins is coming in hard, he dangles Walker... there! Jimmy Day is gone too... Collins to Morningstar. Back again.. Aaaand what is he doing??? Did you see that back in the studio, Bob?! That's such a rookie mistake! Collins totally fumbled that! Can we see a re-run?"_

"Aaaw!! How could he do that?!" Sam throws his hands up in exasperation, totally oblivious that he's spilling beer all around him from the pint he's holding.

And really, the charge had been brilliant but once by the goal Cas had made a total mess, handling his stick with the skill one would have expected from a beginner, practically giving the puck to Luther the goalie. The TV shows a re-run and then the camera follows Cas skating back with a dejected look, Lucifer skating by him, giving him a chastising cuff on the helmet. Dean had never understood why Cas did these mistakes until now. If the Angel is the brilliant figure skater from the lake then he might not have played hockey for very long even if he obviously is a fast learner. That is very useful knowledge for their game next week.

It doesn't take long, though, for the Angels to recover. By the end of the first period, the score is 2-0 to the Angels. Cas made one of those goals (Of _course_ the speakers blare 'Angel in the centerfold' when he does.) and assisted Balt on the other.

The second period rolls around and the game takes a whole different tone altogether. The Vampires have been playing ugly in the first period but that’s nothing compared to what they do now. Their whole tactic seems to be built on taking Cas out of the game. Now, Cas might be a difficult person to body check with his quick evading techniques but even he can't avoid getting dinged up by five people intent on hurting him, not even with Morningstar protecting him like a mother hen. Balt is switched out. Instead an Angel enforcer, Ephraim Holmes, also known as 'the Merciful Executioner' is sent to work as a better defence for Cas. The New City Vampires have one player known for being extra cruel - Gordon Walker - and he is out for Castiel's blood. The game deteriorates and the refs lose control. Scuffles ensue at an alarming frequency and players from both teams get sent to the penalty booth over and over. This doesn't stop Cas from making one more goal and when the second period ends the score is up to 3-1. Cas skates by a camera with microphone and is caught answering Gordon's trash talk with ".. _You wish! You hobknocking gob shite!_..." This makes all the freewillians laugh. Cas' choice of wording when on ice is quite legendary by now.

The mood in the hotel bar is quite tense now, though. Sam especially is worried for his friend. The Angels look like they might win, but at what cost? When a game falls apart like this it's not fun to either play or watch.

The third period comes along and has Dean shouting curse words and insults at the TV as Cas is getting increasingly battered. He makes another goal, thus scoring a hat trick, with an absolutely beautiful slapshot from the midline. Even Gabe calls out " _Yeah_! That's what I'm talking about, kiddo!" as they cheer.

It happens when there are just 4:32 minutes left to play.

* * *

> Cas is tired. He’s aching all over from the repeated body checks, stabbings, boardings, cross checkings, elbowings, chargings, slashings and trippings. Most of it has gone unpunished since the refs lost control on the game. His team is working overtime protecting him and retaliating, but it's not enough. They're playing 4 against 4 more often than not by now, somebody from both teams always in the box with a minor penalty. The score is 4-1 so all they have to do is hold out for five more minutes. Less than five minutes. But he’s slower. Adrenalin mingling with lactic acid and pain, topped off by exhaustion makes it increasingly hard to keep up, even with frequent changes on the fly.
> 
> Cas gets the puck, manages to dangle Jimmy Day, passes the puck to Ephraim and skates along the board when he sees movement in the corner of his eye. He turns his head in time to see Gordon Walker coming at him full speed with a cruel grin on his face and feral eyes. Cas braces himself expecting a shoulder check he won't have time to avoid, but instead, Gordon raises his foot, aiming the blade of his skate first and barrels into Cas with it hitting just below the outside of his knee. Blinding pain shoots up from his knee, searing hot through his whole body, ankle twisting unnaturally as he crumbles, momentarily unable to breathe.

* * *

**"NOOOO!!"**  
_"Jesus Christ!"_

After the initial shocked outcry a heavy silence falls over the freewillians in the bar. Round horrified eyes stare at the screen with worry. Grave expressions all around. Sam has covered his mouth with both hands and time seems to tick down slowly.

On the screen Cas is curled in on himself, face tucked into his chest and turned towards the board, hidden. He is absolutely still.

Gordon Walker is given match penalty and one of his team members has to sit off the additional 5 minutes earning the Angels power play the last minutes of the game. Not that it matters. Cas still hasn't moved. Lucifer is livid, yelling at refs, yelling at Vampire players and crouching down by Cas, talking to him worriedly with a hand on his shoulder.

They cut to replaying the event from all possible angles. It’s fucking horrid! That must be a major injury. Cas face, eyes first going wide with shock and indrawn breath. Then as he falls his face goes impassive and he closes his eyes. He braces himself with his elbows as he lands, proving he isn’t unconscious. He curls inward, hiding his face, and stills. He is fucking hiding and Dean just knows it. A mask falling down and then hiding. Not letting anyone see the pain that must be excruciating right now. Dammit won't the fucker _move_!? Dean's stomach twists with worry along with his brother's.

Now medics are hurrying onto the ice with a stretcher and reach Cas. _That_ makes Cas move. An arm shoots out to shove the nearest medic away. He unfolds, face blank, talking and shaking his head. He’s refusing medical care. Lucifer is talking to him but Cas just shakes his head over and over, judging by his lips movement he keeps saying " _No. I'm fine. I'm fine_." And then... he gets up.

"How the _Hell_ is he getting up?!" Adam protests. "Did you not see that?!"

"Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked...?" Sam suggests. You can hear it in his voice not even he believes it.

"The Hell it wasn't!" Benny says vehemently. Because they all had seen it. The hit, the twist of the knee and ankle. He should be squirming in pain on the ice and be carried off on a stretcher.

The screen shows an opposing picture, though. Cas skating with long slow strokes around the rink, face to the audience, arms up, stretched as to show them all he's okay. Morningstar hovers around him, looking at him with a worried expression. Radiating genuine care that Dean didn't think he was capable off.

When the game starts up again Cas is still on the ice after a slight argument with his captain and the refs. He doesn't do any extreme moves but seems otherwise fine. Dean can't shake the feeling that he isn't. Things Cas has said to him keeps ringing in his ears. ' _Falling always has bad consequences. You get hurt, punished. The price of falling is too high._..' and about his father's punishments ' _This would happen if I had complained. Or shown that I was in pain after an accident_.' Dean wonders exactly how serious accidents Cas had been made to stoically walk off to be able to handle one such as this one like it’s nothing...

* * *

When they get to their hotel room they don't waste any time calling Cas.

"Put it on speaker dammit, Sammy!" Dean whines while it's ringing. Sam does so without hesitation which speaks for how worried he is. Cas picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hello, Sam."

The brothers speak at the same time.

"Cas! Are you alright?!"  
"That was one _helluva_ hit, Angel!"

"I take it I'm on speaker then. Hello, Dean. And yes. I'm quite alright I assure you." Cas voice is devoid of any emotional inflictions.

"Bullshit!" Dean spits out and Sam gives him a bitchface.

"I will concede to the point that it was not a painless experience. And yes, I can still feel it. But you do not need to worry. I'd much rather use my time thinking about the hat trick I scored tonight, thank you." Cas sounds snippy at the end of that sentence and Dean throws his arms up in annoyance and stomps off to the bed. Sam, of course, used to Dean’s constant deflections from touchy subjects, raises to the bait at once and soon the two of them go back from speaker to talking privately. For an hour. Stupid, stubborn, dorky Angel. Dean spends the hour moping and thinking about how douchy and stubborn Cas is and dumb for not admitting how bad the hit was. So what if Dean would probably do the same if the roles were reversed? (If he even could, considering how bad it looked like.) And next time he sees that fucker Gordon Walker he’s going to fucking _kill_ him! Fucking bastard for fucking somebody up like that. Somebody Sam cares for. _Sam_ cares for. Remember that. Sam. Right. Got it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your comments. <3


	18. A slip up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is an Overlord according to himself, Sam gets good news and Cas is hiding something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**DORKY OVERLORD**

* * *

_Incoming text message..._

**Cas 15:43 PM:** _Queen to G7. Check mate._

 **Dean Winchester 15:52 PM:** _Fuck!!!!!_

 **Cas 15:53 PM:** _You are getting better._

 **Dean Winchester 15:54 PM:** _Dammit wingboy! I don't get why I keep playing with you!_

 **Cas 16:03 PM:** _I think I know what would help. You might fare better with proper visualization. Here's a link to a chess game app. Install it._  
[link to Google Play store included]

 **Cas 16:06 PM:** _I just created an account. Add me. My nickname is CenterfoldAngel. Which by the way is ironic as I now get the urge to kill myself every time they play that song. And they play it nearly Every. Single. Game. -.-'_

 **Dean Winchester 16:08 PM:** _Hey, you know the solution to that one. They only play it when you score a goal. All you need to do is stop scoring them. ;)_

[DemonDean invites CenterfoldAngel to a game of chess]  
[Invite accepted]

 **Cas 16:10 PM:** _I thought you - personally - wanted to make me fall? If I stop fighting anybody will be able to 'fuck me up' as you said. Did you not claim exclusive right to do that after our first game? To me, the message was pretty clear._

 **Dean Winchester 16:11 PM:** _That's right, wingboy! Your ass is mine now!_

 **Cas 16:13 PM:** _I think I'd prefer it the other way around. ;)_

 **Dean Winchester 16:14 PM:** _Keep dreaming Angel._

 **Cas 16:14 PM:** _Believe me, I will._

 **Dean Winchester 17:00 PM:** _We're still talking hockey right?_

* * *

21:00 PM Sam is sitting on the couch eating his dinner and watching A Game of Thrones. Dean is beside him fiddling with his phone with an intent expression and has, for the last hour when suddenly;

" **YEEEAAAASSSS!!!** " Dean jumps up with arms stretched straight up and hands fisted in a victory gesture. Sam nearly drops his plate by the outburst but catches it in the last minute, only spilling some spaghetti bolognese on his shirt.

" _What the Hell_ , Dean?!"

"You, Sammy boy, are looking at Grand Master Chess Overlord Winchester!" Dean declares proudly and proceeds to do some kind of ridiculous victory dance.

Sam dabs his shirt with a napkin trying to get the sauce off while raising a sceptical eyebrow to his brother. "Uh-huh."

"Yeah! Finally beat that blue-eyed fucker!" Dean says sounding infinitely cocky and proud of himself.

"Who?" Sam asks disinterestedly to humour his brother while he goes back to eating and looking at the TV.

"Cas! Got him good this time!"

Now _that_ catches Sam's interest! He turns towards Dean who's still doing his stupid little 'Overlord-dance'.

"Wait. ...So you and Cas... play _chess_ on the phone?"

A guarded expression falls over Dean's face. "Yeah... What of it?" he answers.

A small smile tugs in the corners of Sam's lips. "Nothing. It's good, Dean. I'm glad."

"Whattaya mean?" Dean asks suspiciously.

"Nothing. I mean. I'm just glad you're getting along, not fighting. That's all."

"Dude! We totally _are_ fighting!" Dean grins and wiggles his phone, display showing a chess board. "And more importantly - I won this fight!"

Sam chuckles and goes back to eating, feeling happy about his brother and his best friend starting to get along. Dean flops down on the couch beside him again and fiddles with his phone. He holds it out while holding up his other hand, doing a victory V gesture by his face. He squints, sucks in his cheeks, purses his lips and takes a picture. Then he laughs some nasty little laugh and fiddles some more. Looks like he's tapping out a message. Sam’s soon lost in the plot on TV again and thinks no more about it while Dean's phone chirps a couple of times causing him first to mutter discontentedly and then giggle in mirth.

* * *

Cas comes out of his room looking like someone took a dump on his dinner, and plops down on the couch of the common room beside Balt and Uriel who're watching some crappy 80's movie on TV. They look at him but don't ask why he's pouting grumpily. He's better left alone in this state and he holds a grudge about as long as a goldfish can swim a lap in its bowl, as long as you don't poke his temper. He stares down at his phone repeatedly as if it has personally offended him. Which, possibly, it has. Then he crosses his arms and proceeds to pout in the direction of the TV instead. Which hasn't offended him at least. Then his phone signals incoming message and he opens it.

 **Dean Winchester 21:12 PM:** _Behold your Grand Master Chess Overlord!_ [Picture included of Dean's face and hand with the victory gesture]

Cas chuckles, drawing the attention from Balt and Uriel with his instant mood swing. He ignores them and types out a reply.

 **Cas 21:13 PM** : _More like Grand Master Duckface Overlord!_

 **Dean Winchester 21:14 PM:** _Hey! That's not a duck face! That's 'Blue Steel' dammit!_

Cas grins down at his phone and taps out another reply.

 **Cas 21:15 PM:** _You may call it what you want, but I know a duck face when I see one. Usually, that expression is reserved for teenage girls, though. Maybe you identify with that particular group? Are you posting it on Instagram too?_

"Awww. Would you look at that? Our little Cassie is getting sweet messages from Romeo!" Balt coos and Cas looks up to find both his teammates hanging over his shoulder, reading with amused expressions.

Cas rolls his eyes and goes back to looking grumpy. "He beat me at chess," he concedes and stares at the TV, totally missing the look shared by Uriel and Balt, and the devious smiles spreading on their faces. Balt suddenly snatches Cas' phone away and jumps away from him while Uriel grabs him to stop him from following.

"Give me back my phone!" Cas protests threateningly.

"Sorry, darling! If we have to live with your horrible mood when you lose, then the least we can do is let loverboy revel in it!" Balt grins, holds up the phone and takes a picture just as Cas furiously tries to lunge after him, one arm free, stretched out grasping, Uriel holding him back by the other arm and around his waist. Balt quickly types in a message, includes the picture and hits send.

 **Cas 21:20 PM:** _Your angel Cassie can't come to the phone right now. He is too busy spoiling the mood for his team members by being a sore loser. I believe congratulations are in order 'Overlord Winchester'. Ta ta. /Balt_ [Picture included of a furious Cas struggling to reach his phone]  
As soon as it's sent Balt hands the phone back and Uriel lets go of him. Both are laughing and Cas stares down on the phone glumly to see what Balt sent. It’s his own damned fault for enlisting help to coax Winchester out on the... not-a-date. He isn't sure who had taken care of what details once the plan was formed. Luci handed out the assignments. Making Cas' car break down, swamping Bobby's with ridiculous amounts of petty oil exchanges and tire switches, making the employees at the hardware store come down with a 'mysterious' stomach bug so Sam had to work. All to create deniability and make sure nothing led back to Cas. He reads the message and looks at the picture. He snorts. It’s kind of funny. Dean will enjoy it.

"Best way to catch your man is to stroke his ego." Uriel grins and Cas sends him a dark glare, which sends Balt and Uriel back into a fit of laughter.

Cas sighs and sits down on the couch, this time actually looking to see what they are watching. 'Roadhouse' with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott? It's watchable. If Cas is to be honest with himself he actually partly enjoys the teasing. It’s good-natured and something he never had before, lacking siblings or good friends as he had been. And the guys can read him well enough by now to know when to get the Hell out of his way and when he'll accept friendly jibes. Right now he’s just going through the motions of being grumpy for their benefit. Dean's reply comes soon after his two teammates sit down beside him.

 **Dean Winchester 21:22 PM:** _I think I'm starting to like your team mates wingboy. ;)_

 **Cas 21:23 PM:** _They’re horrid and put on this earth to torment me. I'll get you back next time. Good night, Dean._

 **Dean Winchester 21:24 PM** : _'Nite Angel._

* * *

**A SLIP UP**

* * *

The cold has returned as predicted, with an abundance of snow, making it seem like the false spring had never existed. Dean parks his Baby in a garage within walking distance of the ice hall and is heading to practice early. His beanie pulled down far over his ears and the zipper of his red Team Free Will jacket pulled up as far as it will go, stopping just below his nose. From afar he spots Cas coming out of the ice hall waving goodbye to some of the other Angels and heading in Dean's general direction. Cas is lost in thought and doesn’t notice Dean coming in his direction on the other side of the street. Dean heads for him, intent to say hello. Just as he passes behind a van he sees through the windshield Cas slip on an ice patch hidden under the snow. Cas catches himself before falling, but his face contorts in pure agony. Dean stops dead. Cas grabs at his knee and hisses through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. A moment later he opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times. His eyes are glossy with unshed tears. He takes a few shuddering breaths and straightens, then proceeds to limp the last few steps to his car. Dean ducks behind the van so he won’t be seen, heart thumping wildly.

 _Fuck_!

Cas you stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Son of a Bitch!

The last couple of days since the Vampire game, Cas has seemed unaffected. Sam reported that Cas is okay and Dean had almost let himself believe it. Had _wanted_ to believe it, despite how bad it had looked when Gordon Walker slammed into Cas skate first towards the knee. But Cas is apparently far from okay. Just very, very good at hiding it!

Oh crap!

Maybe a couple of weeks rest would do the trick. They have a break coming up after all. But first, they have their game in just two days. Maybe Cas will do the sensible thing and stay on the bench? But in that case, what is he doing here at practice? And of the many words Dean has come to associate with Cas - 'sensible' isn’t one of them. Considering how concerned Morningstar seemed during the game, Dean’s prepared to believe the Captain would not allow Cas to play if he knew how much pain Cas is in. But Dean isn’t prepared to seek Lucifer out to ask him to bench his best player. It might come across as if Dean’s afraid of the opposition. Also, what if Dean is wrong and Lucifer already knows, but _doesn’t_ care?

Stupid fucking blue eyed fucker!

_FUCK!_

* * *


	19. Mary and the dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam hit a dog and Dean takes a hike down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Dog dying. Damned right that is a warning!  
> \- past minor character death  
> \- past domestic violence  
> \- past child abuse  
> \- past suicidal thoughts by minor character
> 
> Phew. Writing through the perspective of a six-year-old is not that easy, I can tell you that!
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**DOG-GONE DAY**

* * *

The dog comes out of nowhere and Dean slams on the breaks. * _ **BANG**_ * Too late. Sam and Dean are yanked forward in their seatbelts as the car screeches to a halt. Luckily they were not going too fast due to the weather and the winding forest road.

"What happened??" Sam asks, who'd been lost in a book that was now flung at his feet.

"We hit a dog," Dean answers frowning, his voice and eyes grave.

His kid brother instantly gets a sad puppy look and Dean unbuckles his safety belt and gets out. He walks around the car and finds the dog that had been propelled forward by the collision. He squats down beside it. It's a big dog. A mutt. Probably a mix between a golden retriever and a couple of other breeds. It's also, quite certainly, dead. Judging by how half its head is caved in. Thankfully that side is facing the ground. Dean rises up again so he can see Sam in the car, shakes his head mournfully and then squats down again.

He runs his hand along its body, soft fur made coarse by dirt. No collar. Thin, malnourished body hidden under the long hair.

"Sorry, buddy..." he says softly.

Sam comes to stand by his side, looking down at him and the dog. His mournful facial expression and slumped shoulders make him seem like he’s only 10 years old, instead of going on 21.

"We should call somebody...." Sam says. 

Dean looks up at him. "Who'd we call? It's a stray!"

"Well then we should bury it."

"The ground is frozen solid, Sam," Dean says with impatient patience, controlling the urge to roll his eyes. "We should salt and burn it. Then at least it's spirit will get to rest."

Sam doesn't hold back _his_ urge and rolls his eyes. "Gods! Can't believe you're still doing that! That's children's stories, Dean! Mum died when you were six and you still hang on to every story you remember her telling!"

The mention of their mother dying makes an unpleasant almost 19-year-old memory flash inside his head as it always does when the topic comes up. It's a memory he's never told anybody about, almost as vivid as when it happened. Not even Sam, who was two when it happened. It's a burden he carries alone.

* * *

_Approximately 19 years ago...._

 

Dean was convinced his mum had hung the moon and lit the sun. She was the coolest person ever, told the best stories about ghosts, demons, werewolves, and shifters, had the warmest hugs and the brightest smiles. And she had a tattoo on her hip, to protect her from demon possession, and how cool is that!? Dad shared his oldest son's sentiment. He would light up as soon as she entered a room, his smile wide and eyes adoring. He'd do anything to make her laugh. They kissed and hugged a lot. But not always. Not since dad came back from the war. Dad would have nightmares and wake up screaming and crying. Sharp sounds could send dad into a shivering crying mess, curled in on himself. Looking at things that weren't there. He could suddenly for no reason Dean could see become very, very afraid. Shake and shiver, eyes darting around. Then he wouldn't hear when you spoke to him. Or he heard things that you didn't say. 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder' they had explained to Dean. It's when really bad things happened to people and sometimes they could not forget it. Like they were haunted by really bad personal ghosts. So dad had mean private ghosts living in his head and that's why sometimes he would become not-dad. Often at those occasions, he would drink to make it go away and that'd make it worse.

Mum would try to help, but it didn't work. You could not reach not-dad. So they'd argue and fight. Mum would say 'Take care of, Sammy' when that happened. Dean did. Sitting by his crib when he was a tiny baby, taking him outside playing when he got big enough to sit up by himself, crawl into his bed and curl himself around his chubby little brother like a protective Dean-shell. Anytime Sammy got frightened he'd reach out his little arms towards Dean and say 'Dee'. It made Dean feel big and strong and brave. Even when the shouting was at its loudest and followed by crashes and crying and Dean was scared out of his mind. Sam needed him. Sam's very first word had been 'Dee', not 'ma-ma' or 'pa-pa'. ' _Dee_ '. Because of it, Dean was brave.

There were times when dad was drunk and frightened and angry and _not-dad_ when he'd lash out. Throw things, hit stuff, or mum. Or Dean. Not often, and he was always so very sad afterwards. One time after dad had hurt mom really bad so she had to go to the hospital, Dean had walked into the living room and found dad on the couch. He was crying and holding a gun to his head. Then Dean couldn't be brave anymore. Dean had started crying because he got so scared. That made dad put down the gun and hold out his arms so Dean rushed into them, clung to his dad like the world was ending. Dad clung to Dean the same way, rocking him and cried as much as Dean did. "I'm so sorry, Dean!" He had said. "I don't want to hurt you anymore! I love you guys so much, I don't want to hurt you. I'm broken and soo, soo sorry!" They had cried like that 'til they fell asleep.

Then the worst day came. Dad was not-dad and mum and dad were fighting in the bedroom. Dean was curled around his sleeping brother in Sam's bed. Dean couldn't sleep when mum and dad fought. He wished there was someone that could curl around him too. So he didn't have to be brave alone. Maybe then he could sleep through fights? Not now. Now he was protective-shell-Dean. He heard the bedroom door open and his parents continued to shout in the hallway. Dean climbed out of Sam's bed and went quietly to the door. He pushed it open just a tad bit and peeked out so he could see. They were standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. Mum was angry at dad because he wanted to go down in the kitchen to drink. Mom hit dad in the face. Because she was who she was it was not a slap, but a hard right-handed punch with a fist. Dad's eyes went black as he staggered backwards from it.

Then he shoved her.

She took a step backwards trying to catch her balance but she was too close to the stairs and there was nothing but thin air to step on and she fell. Dean didn't see the fall, just heard the loud crash at the bottom of the staircase and then all went quiet.

 

Too quiet.

 

"M..Mary..?" Shaken, dad took a step toward the stairs and looked down. His face shocked, paling, eyes round, horrified, no longer black. Dean's heart started beating really fast. "Mary!!!" dad exclaimed and ran down the stairs. 

Dean didn't know he had moved until he stood on top of the stairs looking down. His mother was lying on the floor, her neck in a funny angle, she didn't move, eyes staring glassily into nothing. Dad crouched down beside her and reached for her with hands that shook. "Nonononononono" he was saying. Dean went cold all over. He didn't cry. He didn't comprehend what was happening. Or he did, but didn't want to. Dad cradled mum in his lap. "NOOOOOOO!" He wailed and started crying. Dean just stood there looking. Until Sam woke up, either from the sorrowful howl or from the lack of his brother's presence.

"Deen?..."

Sammy's voice made dad look up with glossy eyes and see Dean.

"Take care of your brother," he choked out.

Dean turned on his heel and ran into Sam's room, up into his bed and curled tightly around his brother who contentedly snuggled into his chest. Dean felt cold, numb, dread. Tried to unsee what he had just seen. Hoping to fall asleep and wake up to find it was all just a bad dream....

 

It wasn't.

* * *

_Present day...._

 

Dean snaps out of his reverie to realise Sam’s still talking and that he’s stroking the dead dog absently, soothingly.

Sam heaves a sigh when Dean looks up at him with a blank stare. "Fine. We'll do it your way," he says at last.

They go around the car together. Dean opens the trunk and takes out his hockey gear, spare clothing, and snow shovel. He passes the snow shovel to Sam and lifts up the false bottom.

"Woah! You've added to the arsenal since last time I saw it!" Sam exclaims in delight as he surveys the guns, knives, containers with gasoline, ropes, rock salt and other odds and ends. This is their father's influence. Always be prepared. Drilling Dean mercilessly into be a good soldier, to be able to protect Sam. Dad always seemed at his most calm when he acted as their drill sergeant, so Dean had been devout. Turning the trunk of the Impala to an apocalyptic survival kit, though... That had been an idea that came to Sam and Dean when they were drunk as Hell during Sam's eighteenth birthday. It had mostly been a joke. First figuring out what one would need in a zombie apocalypse. Making a list. Giggling like teenage girls. How it went from silly drunken musings into actually making it reality Dean can’t explain. Sam had been the driving force. It was a hobby good as any for a year or so. Dean randomly added to it. So what if he had added some stuff that is based on his mother's fairy tales? A bottle of holy water, a shotgun loaded with rock salt...

"Just tell me none of the guns are loaded with silver bullets?" Sam grins.

"Fine. So I won't tell you," Dean deadpans with a cheeky grin of his own and a wink. So what? Silver can kill a man too. It’s just a joke anyway. A way to keep his mother's memory alive. She believed in all those stories she told. At least, it seemed that way to the six-year-old Dean.

Sam laughs in delight and slaps Dean on the shoulder. As stupid as it might be, it also means that they can just take the car and go anytime they want to go camping, fire a couple of rounds at the range, go fishing or hunting. They take many trips like that every summer. Before, with dad, then with Bobby and now by themselves. They just never had a full kit ready in the car until after that birthday.

"I swear, Dean, one day we're gonna be pulled over and get the car searched and the cops gonna think they caught Dexter!" Sam says good-naturedly.

"Hey! They're all legal! I've got license for every each one of them," Dean protests.

Sam's smile melts away when Dean grabs gasoline, salt, and a box of matches. He pockets the matches and gives the rest to Sam.

"I'll go get the dog and you find a good spot, okay?"

"Sure, Dean."

Dean goes to the front of the car and gently lifts the dog. Then he heads after Sam into the woods. They find a clearing and Sam uses the snow shovel to clear some ground where they put the dog down. Dean strokes its fur again.

"There ya go, buddy. I might have taken your life but the least I can do is make sure your soul can rest," he says softly and then gets up. He covers the dog with salt and doses it with gasoline. He then takes a step back, shares a look with Sam who nods. Dean lights a match and flicks it onto the dog and fire flares to life. They stand watching it.

"I can't believe you still do this," Sam mutters, watching the flames with slight unease.

"Yeah, well. Better safe than sorry. If souls can become ghosts and this makes them rest peacefully, why not?"

"Mh," Sam hums noncommittally. "I'm surprised you didn't salt and burn the ground where our house stood, just to be safe."

Dean just grunts, flames reflecting in his eyes, staring like hypnotised.

After watching in silence for a while Dean looks at his brother.

"I'm sorry you never got to have a dog when we were kids, Sam. I know you wanted one."

"It's okay. It's not your fault."

"Yeah it is... Dad was about to buy you one and I talked him outta it. Claimed I was allergic. That I didn't like them."

"Why? You love dogs!" Sam says, surprised but not accusingly.

"Didn't think I'd be able to keep you both safe..."

"Oh....." After a beat, he adds "Well it wouldn't have been fair to bring a dog into that environment anyhow. I didn't realise it then, of course, being a child an' all. But looking at it in hindsight I'm glad we didn't get one." Sam concedes.

"We could get one now if you'd like?" Dean offers.

"Nah. Too much travelling. Maybe we can get one when we're older and retired from hockey."

The brothers look at each other with soft smiles and soft affectionate eyes. Never even imagining a world that they didn't share somehow. Then the moment is over. Sam buries the burned remnants in snow and they head back to the car.

* * *


	20. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angels vs Team Free Will, the game.  
> Cas thinks Twitter is stupid. Dean thinks Cas is stupid. And Lucifer surprises Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning for this chapter.
> 
> Oh, and Cas says "Shut the fuck up, asshole!" in Dutch.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT..**

* * *

Dean passes behind Cas while the Angel is doing some pre-game interview for television and catches a few of the things said. Cas is all cocky, self-assured and charming. He’s showing no sign whatsoever of being affected by his injury. Dean almost wonders if he's just imagined what he saw two days ago. Almost.

Interviewer: "So we've heard that you've gotten some offers to play in teams in the Champion Hockey League. Any chances we'll be seeing you there in the future?"

"Emma. Emma was it?" Interviewer nods. "Well, Emma, I'm going to tell you this. I _**am**_ going to play in the Champion Hockey League next season. And I will do it while wearing the Angels’ colours. And that's a fact. So please, spread the word. Other teams can stop pestering me! The Angels is the last team I will ever play with." As an afterthought, he adds; "Except for the National Hockey Team that is... I could consider that."

Then Cas notices Dean and calls out.

"Demon!"

Dean turns his head to look at him and Cas gives him an exaggerated wink and a cheeky as Hell grin. Dean rolls his eyes and sends him a dark glare before continuing on his way. All caught on camera of course. _Of course._ Cas is working the media like a pro right now. Feeding fire to the demon/angel thing and Dean's _soo_ not up to it. But of course, _of course_ , his reaction is perfect in the context. Stupid baiting fucker with his stupid sparkling blue eyes. He sent Cas some messages yesterday telling him that if he’s still in pain there’s no shame in resting this game and that Dean wouldn't think he’s a coward or something. But no. Wingboy insisted he’s _fine_. Then he'd sent Dean a message saying ' _I would never miss out on a chance for physical exertion with you, Dean_.' Always with those innuendo jokes. They make Dean kind of flustered and nervous and he doesn’t want to think about why. It’s _wrong_ , that’s what it is. All kinds of wrong! _Fuck_! Sometimes he catches himself smiling stupidly when Cas sends those double-edged texts and that’s scary as fuck in itself. It makes him wildly uncomfortable and annoyed. They are just jokes, right? Right. That doesn’t stop Dean from responding in kind. After all, innuendos are second nature to Dean. It's not like he means them. Just jokes. Like you do. Nothing weird about it. He’s not like _that_ anyway.

_Christ_!

**STOP** thinking about it, Winchester! Get a grip! Focus! There's a game to win!

The game. Right. Cas probably just does it to get him off balance anyway. He’s probably laughing his ass off at Dean, knowing exactly how uncomfortable it makes him. Yeah well, let him laugh. Texting is safe anyway. He can’t be seen so Cas can only guess what effect it has. They’re just joking around. Stupid blue-eyed douche. He thinks he can win over Dean like that somehow, let him try. See if Dean cares. _Oh for fuck's sake!_ Think. About. _**The game!** _

* * *

**FIRST PERIOD**

* * *

**1st period. Time left 20:00**

Just like the first time it's Cas and Dean facing off. As they're taking up position Dean smirks confidently at him, but this time, instead of slipping on his fighting face, Cas responds in kind. With a small smirk, he flips his mouth guard in and out of his mouth once using his tongue, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Winchester blushes, then a determined mask sets over his face and Cas chuckles quietly, slightly condescending. Dean's eyes get an angry spark. They turn their heads to face the ref holding the puck up, the signal to start is given and the puck drops. This time Cas wins the faceoff and passes to Balt. The game is on!

* * *

This time around, Winchester had obviously done his homework figuring out Cas' weaknesses. He goes for the puck when Cas is driving it with the stick in front of himself and not when he keeps it close to his body using his skates as much as stick to propel it forward, then he just checks Cas, bumping him to get him unbalanced. Not an easy feat, wounded or not. But it's wearing Cas down at an alarming speed. Every little jar is shooting fiery pain up his leg, though he doesn't show it. He avoids some moves as good as he can, the rest is just show.

He has managed to hide his pain well during the week. Only letting down the mask when he was alone. Luci has been watching him like a hawk, especially during practise. They had all given him some leeway to not exert himself since it had looked like a nasty hit despite what Cas’ claims. But the hardest part was hiding the leg itself. Keeping pants on at all times (since Lucifer could show up in his room at any given time), not showering with the guys, taping his ankle to keep the swelling from showing. You just had to see it to know it is bad. Dark purpling bruise and red swelling on his lower leg and up on the side of the knee. He’s been extremely lucky, though. The impact had been _below_ the knee joint, not on it, or he would have been screwed. The joint has taken damage too, just like the ankle, but it’s second hand. Had the skate hit a bit higher... He shuddered to think about it. As far as he can discern, it would heal by itself with rest and good care. The fear of showing weakness, though, is so ingrained―the punishment had always been so much worse than any injury he’d sustained―that he doesn’t dare to admit to having it. What if he'd be thrown off the team? He has to be useful. Irreplaceable. He doesn’t want to lose what he’s gained here. 54 more minutes. In figure skating, you had to be perfect for 7 minutes, hockey 60 minutes plus having people pounding on you. Bugger.

It’s a mental technique. Hard to explain perhaps. He simply puts the pain _outside_ of his body. Or perhaps the other way around, it’s still there, but he isn't. Like watching from afar. Like it’s somebody else's pain. He’s heard rape victims talk about similar experiences. Of course, he has spent years from early childhood perfecting this. Locking himself up in a safe place in a corner of his mind. This is not the worst injury he’s been forced to work through. This is, however, the first time he’s truly afraid of what he'd lose if he failed. When he was living with Father he knew what to expect, now he doesn’t.

He can do basically anything with his body. Dance, fight, skate. He'd probably be good at any kind of physical sport if he put his mind to it. But what is he if his body failed? He has lots of other skills, languages one of them. Reading body language and understanding psychology too. But he has no paperwork whatsoever on that. No grades from school, no nothing. He doubts he'd be able to settle for a menial job he’s way too over-qualified for. If he’s thrown out of the team he'd have to sell his house and live on conning people, and he can’t do that in twin towns. He'd have to leave everybody he'd come to like behind. The fear of this keeps distracting him from mentally separating himself from his pain. _That’s_ wearing him down.

* * *

**1st period. Time left 11:02**

Dean’s on a roll! First he dangles Bartholomew, then feints Balt. Cas tries to stop him so he flips the blade back and forth over the puck, keeping him scrambling uselessly for it with his stick, shoving at Dean and looking like a thundercloud of frustration. Then Dean scoops the puck up on his blade, flicks it between Cas' knees and catches it on the blade of his stick again behind Cas before it even hits the ice, and skates away laughing.

"AAargh! You bloody twiddle tit!" Cas curses at him, making Dean grin like a maniac. Cas always gets furious when he’s tunnelled. It’s awesome!

This charge is a fucking solo charge as the others do a change on the fly. He dangles Uriel on the blue line and swiftly avoids Ephraim, then - _CLACK_ \- shoots. All net behind Alfie! The signal for goal sounds and the crowd chants ' _Demon Dean! Demon Dean! Demon Dean!_ ’

" _YEAH BABY_! Winchester on FIRE!" He shouts as he pumps his fist in a victory gesture. He skates a victory lap around Cas. " _That's_ how you handle a stick, wingboy!" He grins.

"Hou je fokking bek, klootzak!" Cas growls and stares darkly at him.

Dean throws an arm around his shoulder and purrs tauntingly by his ear, "Aww, Angel. You know it makes me all tingly when you go multilingual like that..."

"Back off, Winchester! Or I'll make you more than just tingle with _my_ stickhandling!" Cas says angrily and waves his stick threateningly.

Dean skates away cackling. Yeah! He _rules_ this fucking ice!

**SCORE: Angels 0 - 1 Team Free Will**  
**Goal by no. 13 Dean Winchester.**

* * *

**1st period. Time left 02:14**

Fucking stupid douchebag flyboy! Cas is actually skating laps around him. For _real_! Actual. Fucking. Laps! And he’s hum- _ming_! With a serene smile and content eyes. He did little twirls to avoid the others or to prevent Dean from getting the puck. It bounces back and forth between Cas' skates and stick in unpredictable patterns. It must look like a moon orbiting a planet or something! If the planet was following the moon that is, because Cas is heading for the Free Will goal and they are closing in _waaay_ too fast for Dean's liking. Fucking teasing bastard! Cas stops dead and Dean flies past him before he has a chance to react. A loud * _TWAK_ * behind him alerts him to his mistake and then the signal for goal sounds. The speakers blast 'Angel in the centerfold'.

" _Fucking sonova bitch ice princess fucker!!!_ "

"Can't say your linguistic tendencies are doing anything to me, Winchester!" Cas sniggers and skates away, leaving Dean staring daggers at his back.

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 1 Team Free Will**  
**Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins.**

* * *

The break between periods comes up and Cas hurries towards the locker room. He doesn't bother to stay and give any interviews as some of the players do during the pause. He had done his bit of that until the game is over at least. Once in the locker room he hurries to the toilet and locks himself in. He sits down on top of the lid, draws a shuddering breath and hides his face in his hands. He overtaxed his leg with that last display of quick footwork. His ankle throbs. His whole bloody leg is throbbing up to the hip as his body tries to evade the pain by twisting in angles that will relive it while he keeps forbidding it. At least in here he doesn't have to control his facial features and can allow himself to grimace from the pain. Just 40 more minutes. Less, if he does frequent changes. Bartholomew is really amped up tonight and will appreciate the extra time on the ice.

Okay. Think of something else than pain now, please? The meeting. Yes, the team meeting they had during the day. Lucifer had been locked inside with Raphael and some other club officials all morning. Then after lunch, there had been a team meeting. It was not about tonight's game. Oh no, of course not. It had been a meeting about media strategy. Cas groans inwardly just thinking about it. This far in the season three teams have collected more points than the others and are currently topping the standings with a good lead. Lakeside Hunters HC led by 2 points. Closely followed by Team Free Will with one point less. And then came the Angels with one point less. A win tonight would mean 3 points and one of the twin town teams would enter the mid-season break as leaders, since the Lakeside Hunters had one more game played already. That isn't the point. Or it is, but in a roundabout way. The Angels have their best season in years, having struggled with its internal crisis and bad morale until Michael left. Now if they keep it up, they stand a chance to play in ChHL the next season as the two best teams get to play the two teams that finish last in the division above them. Because of this the owners of the Angels want media exposure, and lots of it.

Basically they want the players to be good little trained monkeys and court the media. To make it worse, media and hockey fans outside of twin towns have already taken notice of the centerfold angel/demon thing and like dogs with a bone won't let it go. Especially after the private messages Dean and he had left each other through television after the pre-season game. The owners of the Angels are ecstatic about it and want Cas to play it up. 'Which you will,' Lucifer had ordered. So he had. That's also why he’d made that stupid solo display as a counter for Dean's earlier solo goal. Part of the reason anyway. His newfound obsession with all things that would keep the gorgeous man's attention on him plays a part in it too. And it had been really fun! His leg is paying the price for it now, though.

Another thing that was decided at the meeting was all of them were going to create official bloody twitter accounts! (Note to self: Must remember to whine extensively to Sam about that.) They were asked to tweet either before or after a game. He’d created CenterfoldAngel as his official account just to play along. He’s already sent his tweet before the game and considers his duty to be done. It’s a bit funny because his tweet had been ' _First tweet. Tonight I'm going to skate circles around a certain demon of the incubus kind_.' Which he has, and that made him snigger just to think about. He hadn't meant it _literally_ when he sent it, even if that’s what he ended up doing. Balt, on the other hand, had barely stopped tweeting since his account was created!

Cas draws a deep breath and schools his face into a blank mask. Then he goes back for the second period.

* * *

**SECOND PERIOD**

* * *

**2nd period. Time left 14:58**

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 2 Free Will**  
**Goal by no. 18 Sam Winchester. Assist by no. 11 Adam Milligan.**

* * *

**2nd period. Time left 06:35**

The tempo has been high during the second period. Lots of good chances for both teams. Now Cas is leading a charge. Benny skates past him, knocks him into the board making him go down on one knee but he still keeps possession of the puck. Dean’s heading straight for him and Lucifer heads for Dean from the side. Cas scrambles to get up. Knees bent and straightening, one hand on the board. Almost up. Dean closes in for impact. Cas ankle bends outward and Cas folds like a house of cards, landing haphazardly, once again scrambling to get up, but there’s no time to avoid the oncoming hit. Cas head turns towards Dean. At the speed and angle he’s coming in, and the way Cas leg is twisted out.... Cas eyes widen with fear. For just a moment, Cas face lose all pretence and shows pure fucking _dread_! And then... resignation. Time slows to a halt.

 

At the speed and angle he’s coming from there’s no way to stop the impact. Even if he tries a dead stop the momentum would still carry him into Cas. No matter how he twists his body Cas’ leg would take the brunt of it. It would hurt like a bitch even if he _wasn't_ injured. But he is and that will take Cas out for the rest of the season, or possibly even end his career!

Shit.

Shit.

_ShitShitShitShitShitShit!_

Lucifer’s closing in on Dean, eyes locked on him. A check from the side would send Dean harmlessly out of Cas’ way. But Morningstar won’t make it in time.

Shit!

The only way possible to land on Cas without furthering the injury would be to fucking face plant on top of Cas’ shoulder in a flying kind of way like when someone trips you with a leg when you're running, not in a way you can fall on your own.

 

Cas has stopped trying to get up, seen the futility in it. He’s looking at Dean with those fucking big blue eyes full of acceptance and resignation. Like a condemned man waiting for his executioner, knowing there’s no chance for a pardon. Just waiting for the inevitable.

 

Shit.

Shit.

You stupid fucking Angel Eyes! Fuck you, you fucking asshole! You fucking _bastard_! You should not be out here on the ice! Stupid! _Stupid! **Stupid!!**_

 

Dean slips the blade of his stick in front of him, it catches underneath his skate and trips him up, sending him flying flat, feet behind him. Falling like a felled tree. Cas’ eyes widen again, this time with incomprehension, and then Dean's head crashes into his shoulder, helmet slamming into the board, chin jarred painfully― _thank God for mouth guards!_ ―from the impact and he's seeing fucking stars. Time goes back to normal.

Cas scrambles out from underneath him and skates away with the puck. Lucifer skates by looking at him with a funny expression that Dean can't read at the moment. His head is spinning slightly and he takes his time to get up, feeling empty inside. Somewhere distantly he’s aware of the signal for goal going off and the speakers blasting the stupid 'Centerfold' song, declaring Cas to be the goal maker. He doesn't care at the moment. His jaw aches and his ears ring.

**SCORE: Angels 2 - 2 Team Free Will**  
**Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no. 47 Lucifer Morningstar.**

 

"What on God's earth was that, Dean?! Tripping on your own stick like a damned preschooler??!" Benny's yelling at him while helping him up. Adam cuffs him on the helmet and Sam's giving him a bitchface. Clearly, they hadn’t seen what he saw or Sam would not have been cross about it. The others? He's not so sure. He keeps his eyes on the ice while he skates off to change with Ash. In the booth, he takes off his helmet, leans his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands. He's expecting a scolding from Gabe. It doesn't come.

He isn’t paying attention to what happens on the ice. There's another goal made, no stupid song this time, something else angel related, so at least not Cas, the fucking bastard. Someone comes in to change but he's not paying attention.

**SCORE: Angels 3 - 2 Team Free Will**  
**Goal by no. 50 Balthazar Roché. Assist by no. 47 Lucifer Morningstar.**

 

"Nope, kiddo took a blow to the noggin'," Gabe is saying somewhere to his side, clearing him from further play this period. While Dean's head may have cleared and his body is fit to go, he isn't, so he’s thankful for the respite. He’d sacrificed the good of the team to protect a friggin' opponent! Yeah, sure, if he hadn't done what he did nobody would blame him. It wouldn’t be intentional like the way Gordon Walker had done. And Cas has lied about his injury so Dean shouldn't have known how badly he would mess Cas up. Had it been someone else he wouldn't have cared. You play the game, you pay the price, right? On the ice, the team comes first. End of story. But still. He doesn’t want to end the career of Sam's best friend. He wants to beat him fair and square, prove himself the better player. And why is Gabe not tearing him a new one for clumsiness? The only reason he can think of was that it really must have looked like a mistake and that he hit his head in the process.

Somebody pats Dean on the shoulder but he doesn't lift his head from his hands. "Cheer up, kiddo. You did good out there." Gabe's voice.

No he didn't. He betrayed his fucking team, that's what he did. And for what?! A stupid fucking douchy mule-ass stubborn wingboy that can't be bothered to realise what’s best for himself and stay on the fucking bench! Fuck Castiel Collins! He's an idiot! Stupid, stupid, dorky idiot!

Dean’s working himself up to a decent anger. As if Cas did this just to spite him. Somebody should give him a good thumping and scold the Hell out of him for this! Which is exactly what Dean plans to do once the break comes around.

* * *

He finally tracks down Cas in a hallway, but he's not alone. Dean hears them before he rounds the corner and stops to listen.

"What were you thinking!?! And lying to me about it?! **To _me_**!?!" Lucifer sounds utterly furious.

"It's not that bad, Captain." Cas voice is monotone.

"The _Hell_ it isn't!! Do you think I'm blind?! _I was there_! I _saw_! Winchester saw! And I had to find out by watching him!? You know he did that idiot move on purpose, don’t you?"

"Captain, I..."

"Shut up! This is not a life or death situation, Cassie! If it was, this kind of lie, this behaviour, could be forgiven. But you are _way_ out of line this time!"

Dean takes a chance to peek around the corner. Cas is standing to attention, looking desperate and pleading at Morningstar. Lucifer, on the other hand, is outraged. He’s standing in front of Cas, hands on hips, face red and looking like a thundercloud of doom!

"I need to be able to trust you, Castiel! If you are injured and can't play _I. Need. To. Know_! This is not acceptable! What if Winchester hadn't done what he did?! Did you ever think of what could have happened then, did you?!"

"Capt..."

"I said _**SHUT UP!**_ I want you to leave for the hospital the moment I'm through with you here. You're going to get yourself thoroughly examined. X-Ray, ultrasound, the full works. And I'm going to be briefed about the result. Then you're going to make sure you follow the doctor's instructions to the dot until you're healed up properly. You are not allowed out on the ice even for the lightest practise until _**I**_ declare you fit to do so! Do you understand, Castiel?!"

Cas looks on the verge of panic. "But the game..." he pleads.

Lucifer's expression shifts from anger to pure frustration as he lifts his hands and fists both of them in his hair. "This is not about the game for God's sake, Cassie! This is about you! I don't _care_ if we lose the game! I don't _care_ if we drop all the way to division 2! Or 3 or 4! I care about _you_ , little brother!"

And woah! That was unexpected. Biggest douche on the planet showing feelings Dean hadn't even dreamed he's capable of.

Cas looks gobsmacked. Stiff posture totally gone. His mouth has fallen open, eyes round somewhere between wonder, disbelief and incomprehension. Like the thought of somebody caring and worrying about him for no other reason than him being who he is, is so utterly foreign to him that he can't even grasp the concept. Cas’ eyes are actually filling with tears. Dean feels his heart squeeze at the sight.

Apparently, so does Lucifer's. His posture drops too, his expression turns to one of soft sorrow. The two of them look at each other, all masks shed, feelings naked on their faces. Lucifer takes a step forward and puts a gentle hand on Cas' shoulder. He leans forward so their eyes are level.

"You are very important to me. And when the need arises it's my job to protect you." He speaks softly. "Not my job as a Captain, but as a brother. That's why I need you to be truthful to me about things like this. To trust me back as I do you. Can you promise me that?"

Holy fuck! Talk about chick flick moment! And _brother_? They’re not brothers! But then again, if he'd learned anything from Bobby, Gabe, and Ellen, it’s that family does not end with blood.

Cas swallows. And swallows again. He looks so small and fragile at the moment, like a child. Gone is the badass poster boy, gone is the suave jet-setter, gone is the grumpy dorky guy. Finally, he croaks out in a small unsteady voice; "Yes... I can.. I can do that."

Lucifer smiles.

For Christ sake just hug the guy! He obviously needs it! And then without realising he's doing it Dean takes a step out and spoils the moment. It's like dropping shutters over both Angels’ faces, sending them into unreadable default mode. Lucifer's hand drops from Cas' shoulder, both of them straighten and turn their heads towards him. Two sets of blue eyes lock on Dean, one pair icy blue and one pair of ocean blue, totally impassive. Not giving the merest hint of what just transpired except the faint residue of tears in Cas'. Dean stutters something incomprehensible and turns on his heel, walking back the way he came.

* * *

Cas isn’t there when the third period comes around. Bartholomew Smith has taken his place, and even scores a goal. Dean plays on autopilot. Busy mulling over what he’d seen. Trying very hard to fit together all the pieces of what he knows about Cas with this. Also, Lucifer. Made of ice and malice as far as Dean has known - obviously there’s more to the guy than he'd ever given him credit for. It’s really hard to fit those pieces together. And who'd have thought there'd ever be a day Dean would agree with him on something. Well, today is that day. Cas is stupid and should take better care of himself, that’s the same sentiment Lucifer had. Morningstar keeps giving Dean strange looks during the rest of the game, and he wonders what's going on in Lucifer's head.

Dean scores a goal in the last minutes of the game but the end result is 4 - 3. The Angels win.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments! I want MOAR! <3  
> Thank you for keeping up reading. :')
> 
> Warning for some fluffiness coming up. ;)


	21. Hopeful sleeping arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is hiding, Cas stays the night at the Winchesters, Sam is happy, Dean finds it increasingly difficult to explain away what is happening and Cas is not your go-to carpenter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter...  
> Maybe a little dubcon-nish? I put that in the tags anyway.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**G'NITE ANGEL.**

* * *

With the break in the season and Cas injured, he’s free to spend his time as he wishes, and apparently it means he wishes to spend it with Sam. They might as well be joined at the hip! So Cas is always there, in their apartment, when Dean comes home. Some nights Cas sleeps on the couch. Mostly on days when he and Sam had spent the day working on his house. It feels both vastly unsettling and oddly natural to have him around. He fits in like he’s always been there, moves around the apartment with familiarity and ease, like he belongs. Considering how happy Sam is about it, maybe he does.

Okay so he isn't _always_ there. Sam and Dean take a couple of shifts to help Bobby out. And Dean spends a couple of hours now and then with Sam, when Cas obviously isn't around. During most evenings though, he is.

Eavesdropping on their conversations while they're in the kitchen and he's on the couch is pointless.

"....and then he used a _noun_ , Cas! Can you believe that? A Noun!" *fits of laughter*

Half of it doesn't make sense if you're not on the top of the geek food chain. They tell each other so nerdy jokes Dean has to groan out loud and roll his eyes when he hears them.

"Did you hear about the famous microbiologist who travelled in thirty different countries and learned to speak six languages? He was a man of many cultures." *fits of laughter*

"Two atoms were walking across a road when one of them said, 'I think I lost an electron!' 'Really!' the other replied, 'Are you sure?' 'Yes, I'm absolutely positive.' " *fits of laughter*

"Schrödinger’s cat walks into a bar. And doesn't." *fits of laughter*

I mean, _Come on_! How's that even funny?

He'd be annoyed about it if it wasn't so nice to see Sam happy. Most nights Dean retreats to his room early, feeling jittery with a nervous flutter in his stomach. Cas has a tendency to lock him down with that unreadable squinty stare any time he is close and it makes Dean very self-conscious. So he does what anyone would do - he flees. He could go out and have a couple of drinks, but he doesn't. Because Sam's happy, alright? It's good to hear his laughter through the bedroom door. They haven't had an abundance of domestic happiness in their life. Dean has spent 16 years of his life listening for crying, shouting, whimpers, clinking bottles and whatnot through walls - Sam 12 years. Always on guard for sudden mood swings. So hearing happiness is a rare blessing. Cas' drone of silky gravel has nothing to do with it. Well. Maybe a little bit. The guy isn’t so bad. But, you know. It's about Sammy. And when the break's over Cas will have to go back to the Garrison and they'll be on the road a lot of the time. So. You know. Better to take advantage while it lasts. That's why he stays at home. Sam.

* * *

Dean comes home at 21 PM after spending the evening working late at Bobby's due to a seven-car pileup accident in the morning. There had barely been time to take a lunch break. All he wants to do now is to grab a beer, watch TV and just relax. He's annoyed since one of the customers had given him shit about not being able to fix the man's car in one hour or something despite the massive damage it had. He finds Sam's sitting in the armchair reading while Cas is sleeping on the couch with a blanket over himself.

"Cas is staying over tonight," Sam says and Dean's annoyance escalates.

"Dude! I've had a shit day! I want to kick back and watch TV in my _own home_ before I go to sleep okay? It's not even ten in the evening and Angel Eyes is passed out on the couch already?!" Dean sputters angrily. Sam's directing bitchface no. 43 at him while he talks, but then his expression shifts to bemused.

"Angel Eyes?"

"Whatever!" Dean says with a dismissive hand gesture. Cheeks firing crimson he goes right on talking to cover his slip up. Fucking blue-eyed bastard. "The point is, I don't mind you having a sleepover, _Samantha_ , but I need to chillax for a while to bleach my brain from all the shit I've had to put up with today. And I'm totally going to do it in front of the TV! So wingboy has to move his ass, that's all I'm saying."

Sam had been satisfyingly distracted by Dean's nasty tone when called 'Samantha' and gone back to bitchface again (No. 27 this time).

"We’ve had a rough day too, Dean. And we don't have a guest room."

"Yeah well, why doesn't he sleep in your room then?" Dean grumps.

"I have a single bed, Dean! And I'm bigger than Cas so my back will take more damage if _I_ sleep on the couch. In fact, he could sleep in your bed!"

"Dude! I'm not going to sleep on the couch!"

"So don't! One could fit five grown men in your bed and still be comfortable. You would hardly notice each other. You've bunked down with much less space. Oh, and do you remember when we went camping with Benny and Jo? We were practically lying on top of each other in that tent! That was smaller than your damned bed and you didn't complain!"

Sometime during the heated argument, Cas had woken up without Dean noticing. Now he sits up. His face is unreadable except for how tired he looks. He's not looking at either of the brothers as he speaks up. "I should go. I don't want to impose," he says, sounding dejected.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Sam gives Cas the full sorrowful puppy look. Or in this case, the 'I'm-sorry-my-big-brother-is-a-huge-dick-and-I-can't-do-anything-about-it-look'.

Crap! A guilt trip is of _course_ exactly what he needs to make this day better.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. Cas gets up and rounds the couch, when he passes Dean's side Dean reaches out a hand and plants it firmly in the middle of his chest to halt him.

"Stop."

"It's okay, Dean. I don't want to intrude where I'm not welcome," Cas says in a calm voice.

Aw shit. That isn’t exactly helping to stave off the guilt. He can feel Cas' heartbeat through the soft fabric of his shirt. It's beating fast, belying his calmness. He must have been really hurt by this spectacle, why else would it beat so fast?

Dean opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. Tired blue eyes greet him, giving away absolutely nothing about what he's feeling. "Of course you're welcome, Cas. I'm just being an ass 'cause I've had a shitty day, 'ts all. If you're not bothered by bunking down with me, Sam's right. My bed _is_ big. There's room enough for both of us and you won't even know I'm there."

"I don't mind," Cas says. Maybe a little too quickly? He must be really tired.

Dean gives him an encouraging smile to try to make him feel welcome again. He turns around and puts a hand in the small of Cas' back to guide him to the bedroom. "Good. I had it special ordered when we moved up from division 2. Kinda stupid really since I never let any conquests stay the night. Sammy gets really bothered by running into strangers in the morning, and once one girl tried to slip into his bed and get it on when I was asleep..." Dean waves his hand in a cutting gesture near the throat. "...So. Yeah. Not happening any more."

"I solemnly swear I will not crawl into bed with your brother, Dean," Cas says in a serious voice, a spark of humour in his eyes.

Dean chuckles. "Dude, if you did, you two girls would just end up braiding each other's hair and giggle all night like the dorks you are," he teases and nudges Cas' shoulder with his own, getting a grin in return.

Dean opens his bedroom door and Cas stops in the doorway. "Wow. You really weren't joking. That bed is..."

"Enormous, right?" Dean says with a proud grin.

"I was going to say... ' _hopeful_ '," Cas answers, making those ridiculous air quotes and winking at Dean. There's a spark in his eyes that makes memories from the restaurant flood into Dean's brain.

Dean feels his cheeks flush and suddenly is acutely aware that his hand is still on the small of Cas' back, warmth seeping through the fabric. He feels the dip of Cas' spine between muscles, firm and relaxed. Shit.

Flustered, he hurries to remove his hand and rubs his neck self-consciously instead. "Yeah, Well... Um. Right. So sleep well, I'll try not to wake you when I come to bed," he stutters and then turns on his heel and flees, leaving Cas to his own devices.

* * *

He sleeps on his back, to the right of the middle of the bed when Dean comes into the room and shuts the door. It wakes him up. He feels the bed dip to his left and hears a comforter and pillows being shifted around. Dean yawns.

"You awake, Angel?" Dean mumbles.

"I am now."

"S'rry. Go back to sleep."

"Good night, Dean."

"G'nite, Angel."

It doesn't take long for Dean's breathing to even out and become deep, not quite a snore. It's soothing and Cas feels sleep tugging him back when suddenly Dean shifts and a hand is thrown onto his chest. Cas' eyes pop open and he twists his head to look at Dean. He is still asleep, lying on his stomach. All that macho posturing melted away from being unconscious and leaving Dean looking younger, innocent like a child.

Right.

Okay then.

Cas wiggles out from under Dean's hand, further towards the right. A tiny frown forms on Winchester's forehead and he mutters something intelligible. Cas snorts in amusement and closes his eyes. He almost drifts back to sleep when Dean's hand clumsily pats the mattress beside him, searching. His hand grazes Cas' side and Dean scoots closer, his leg coming up over Cas' legs and the arm over his torso, fingers splayed over his chest.

Okay, so this wasn't exactly the anticipated chain of events.

Nice.

No really, it _is_ nice!

Bugger.

Dean nuzzles Cas' shoulder with a content little noise and the leg resting over Cas' legs hitches higher and ends up over his groin.

Crap. That could become a problem.

Cas puts a hand on Dean's shoulder to shake him awake but then thinks better of it. If he wakes Dean up now he's probably going to be banished to the living room. He has no interest what-so-ever in sleeping on the couch. This is warm, and comfortable, and soft. His hand absently caresses Dean's shoulder while he thinks, drawing out random patterns with his fingers. Dean hums and his head comes to rest on Cas' shoulder.

Cas turns his head and leans his nose into Dean's hair, inhaling deeply. Apart from the all-encompassing scent of Dean himself that clings to both his body and the bed, he can smell the scent of Dean's store brand shampoo and car engines. He takes another deep breath through his nose. It smells bloody wonderful. Warmth seeps through from the hand on his chest and the line of the body pressed up against his side. He toys with the notion of turning towards Dean and make it a full embrace, just to revel in the pleasant sensation. He very much doubts it would be a wise course of action. From what he knows of Dean so far it would probably result in Winchester slugging him the moment he wakes up. Denying he ever sought this kind of intimacy, sleeping or not. Speaking of pleasant sensations. The pressure over his groin makes another part of Cas wake up and present him with its own list of interests. His cock twitches happily.

Gods and all their blasted minions! Traitorous bloody bugger has no sense of timing!

Cas once again frees himself and scoots to the very edge of the bed.

Dean whimpers and curls in on himself, looking forlorn and unhappy. Sad even. Oddly, he looks so small. It triggers a feral response within Cas. He wants to cover him up with himself, hide him from the rest of the world, cradle him to his chest and woe on anybody who'd dare threaten Dean. He wants to stroke him over his back, over his hair, hold him and tell him nothing is going to happen as long as Cas is around. Tell him it's okay, that he doesn't have to worry because Cas is here now, making sure everything is alright.

Cas huffs a self-depreciating snort.

Yeah, like a big strong man like Dean would need _him_ to save him.

He rolls over to his side, lodges a hand under his head not to fall out of the bed and tries to go back to sleep. It doesn't take long though before a hand with a quest starts out on an adventure to locate the missing body heat and before Cas can muster any will or energy to thwart its efforts, Dean has found him and is firmly melded to his side. An arm snakes itself around him and holds on tightly. 'No escaping this time, buddy,' is the message it conveys.

And isn't that just lovely? He's trying to be a gentleman here for God's sake!

The only way to get away from Dean now would be rolling out of bed entirely and walk around to lay on the other side of the bed. And who's to say that this giant cuddly octopus wouldn't find him there just as quickly? Cuddlopus. Heh. God's he's tired! This could probably go on all night. Might as well just give in. Dean starts to snore softly and it's soothing, lulling. More so than any lullaby. Cas falls asleep within minutes.

* * *

He wakes up slowly. Short hair tickles his nose and his lips brush against a warm, slightly sweat-damp neck, his chin against the collar of a T-shirt. His body is flush against another, pressed as tightly as it will go in a state of unconscious rest. One leg slung over an outstretched one, curving up in the bend of the other. His arm is around a waist, fingers interlaced with someone's fingers and pressed against a heartbeat. It's nice and warm and smells good. He nuzzles in closer, presses his lips against the base of that wonderfully scented neck. A warm, sleep-roughened chuckle jolts him into full wakefulness and instantly fills him with dread. He tries to yank away but the hand his fingers are interlaced in stops him and he freezes instead. Like a deer in the headlights.

Shit.

Cas.

_ShitShitShitShit_!

"I do not want to make you uncomfortable, Dean," Cas says somewhat soothingly but otherwise in a tone you'd use to talk about the weather. "I tried for your sake to avoid the very pleasant temptation you kept offering me during the night, albeit you being incognizant of doing so. Not giving in would however have landed me on the floor, which you will understand if you turn your head to look at the bed behind you. So I feel I can't be held responsible for our current sleeping arrangement. Taking advantage of the invitation to a comfort both of us clearly enjoy and mayhap unconsciously crave, was in the end the only feasible option to me."

Dean turns his head back to look at the bed and realizes that sometime during the night he had scooted closer to Cas. And Cas must have moved away with him following. Because his enormous bed is all but empty. They lie at the very edge of it. In fact, he feels by the slight draft that both his and Cas' bent legs are hanging over the edge. Cas’ other arm, the one not cradling Dean's hand to his heart, is bent and sticking out over the edge, hand under his head, probably keeping him from falling off the bed.

Dean makes a little sound closely related to a whimper.

"Do not be worried. We did nothing untowardly. Just revelled in the feeling of sleeping safely in someone's arms. Next time I wouldn't mind the opportunity to be the big spoon, though. You look so innocent in your sleep I find myself having protective instincts kicking in at the sight. It would have been impudent of me to act upon those tonight, as you were not aware of your actions," Cas elaborates and lets go of Dean's hand.

Dean rolls off him to lay flat on his back, a hand in his hair, eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape. He tries to comprehend and make sense of it all while Cas extracts himself from bed and stretches, totally at ease. He rounds the bed heading toward the door when Dean becomes aware of another much worse, _much_ more embarrassing fact and his face flush scarlet. Cas stops by the short end of the bed and looks Dean in the eyes with calm blue eyes and face neutral.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. It's just you and me here, no one else. No one to judge. No one else knows. You're safe. It's just you and me and I've got your back. Relax. Enjoy. Angst is better saved for other occurrences. In here, with me, you're safe, and there is no shame." With those words, he leaves the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

What the fuck did he mean by _that_?

Weird fucker.

Fuck.

He had been cuddling with Cas of all people! But as he recently noted, he hadn't just been totally flush up against another man. _Of course_ not. It had to be worse since he is a Winchester! So not only had he been pressed up against Cas as close as he could get, he'd done so sporting a morning boner! Cas must have felt that! And how mortifying is that on a scale?

_ShitShitShitShit!_

But Cas apparently gave zero fucks about it. How could he be so calm? And wait a minute! Wait a fucking _minute_! What'd he say? 'Next time...' Who says it's even gonna _be_ a next time?! Dean groans and buries his head in the pillow the two of them just vacated. It smells fucking fantastic! Fuck.

He's screwed.

Until he was brutally awoken it was fucking glorious!

_ShitShitShitShit!_

Of course there's going to be a next time if Dean can come up with a reason for it! He inhales deeply and burrows back in under the comforter in the warm spot Cas had lain in just moments ago.

Oh Christ!

This is sooo _wrong_ on so many levels!

Thank God dad isn't alive to find out!

But it's just cuddles, right?

And Cas won't tell, right?

It's not like they've fucked or anything.

Right.

Just two dudes sharing a huge bed. Nothing suspicious about that.

Fuck! _FUCK_!

* * *

It takes Dean almost 30 minutes to get his wits about him and muster up enough courage to emerge from the bedroom, fully dressed. Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Cas is setting the table with three plates of toast, eggs and bacon, then turns back to the counter and fiddles with something. Dean hesitantly approaches the table and Sam looks up smiling.

"Good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?" he asks.

Cas answers for him, still with his back turned. "Yes, he did."

Dean tenses, head snapping up to glare at him. "And how would _you_ know?" he challenges with a dangerous edge to his voice. Daring Cas to say anything about what had happened.

"Because you were snoring softly the whole night," Cas deadpans and turns around holding out a cup of coffee to Dean.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Cas. Did it keep you awake?" Sam asks, his expression one of sympathy.

Cas eyes turn soft and a slight smile curves the corners of his lips as he meets Sam's gaze. "On the contrary. It was very soothing. I slept better than I've done for many years. If the choice was mine I'd repeat this sleeping arrangement every night I'm not obliged to be at the Garrison." He is pointedly not looking at Dean, but Dean has a creeping suspicion he is really the one being addressed.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, turns his attention back to the newspaper while absently picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of egg.

Cas turns his gaze on Dean, face becoming neutral and squinty. He stretches his arm holding the coffee towards Dean again, motioning for him to take it. Dean stares at it like he's being offered poison.

"Two sugars, two-thirds of coffee, stirred, filled with cold milk and stirred again," Cas prompts patiently.

Right. Now that's just fucking _scary_. Not even Sam gets that right and they grew up together! Dean will drink coffee any way he gets it but when he prepares it himself he is very particular. How and when Cas picked that up is a fucking mystery.

"Um... Thanks, Cas," Dean says as he accepts the cup and takes a sip. It's perfect.

They sit down to eat breakfast. Sam runs commentary of the news he reads, Cas squints at an electrical wiring plan as if he's trying to read hieroglyphics. His frown turns increasingly deep. Scratch that - like he's trying to read a Shakespearian verse in hieroglyphics with half the symbols missing. Dean chuckles. It's fucking endearing. He reaches over and turns the paper Cas is looking at 180 degrees. The movement catches the attention from Sam too.

"Maybe it makes more sense if it faces the right way, wingboy," he smirks.

Cas looks up and pins him with a dark glare, then looks down at the wiring plan again, tilting his head. "It doesn't," Cas answers with a tight voice after a while, making both brothers laugh.

"Hey, Dean. Listen, we're free today so Cas and I are gonna go work on his house. You wanna join us?" Sam asks with a hopeful smile while Cas slips into his creepy staring mode, burning holes through Dean's skull.

"I have better things to do, Sammy."

"Aww come on, Dean! It's actually fun! And Cas is useless at it. He takes more damage trying to nail a board to a wall than he does during a hockey game." Sam grins and Dean laughs at the imagery.

Cas shoulders slump and he looks down on the table, dejected. "I'm not _that_ useless. Although I'm very reliant upon the meticulous instructions given to me," Cas protests weakly and the brothers laugh again.

"Yeah you _are_ that useless. But you take orders _so_ well!" Sam taunts fondly then turns to Dean. "You'd be surprised of the amount of profanity simple carpentry generates from Cas. Leave him alone in a room with a task and his mouth turns fouler than it does on the ice in minutes!" Sam grins and Dean laughs out loud. Cas is staring at Sam like a man betrayed, plotting revenge.

"You'll enjoy yourself, Dean. Getting to boss Cas around, having him obey without question," Sam continues, a playful glint in his eyes. "Best part is that he can't discern what instructions are real ones and which are totally bogus!"

"Home repairs is clearly not my area of expertise! How am I supposed to know when you're making a joke?!" Cas snaps impatiently and then pouts, Sam howling with laughter. Dean looks back and forth between the two of them, it's like they've known each other for years.

"Seriously, Cas? You really believed glueing glass bottles to the roof would in anyway be helpful in repairing a house?" Sam chuckles.

"I trust your judgement in the matter, Sam. You said the sun reflections through them would aid in knowing the correct angle to drill the holes necessary for the wiring," Cas answers petulantly. 

Sam howls with laughter again, Dean joining in.

"What the fuck, dude!? That's just dumb!" Dean says when he has collected himself somewhat.

_"Obviously_. They kept falling down," Cas deadpans which sets the brothers off in another bout of laughter.

* * *

**GROWING A SOUL**

* * *

Dean ends up joining them, despite his plans to hang out with Benny. Benny shows up to help a while later, choosing not to opt out from meeting up with Dean. And then Andrea and Jo show up. Garth comes by with his sock puppet 'Mr. Fizzles'. Something that elicits exasperated groans from the lot of them except for Cas who seems infinitely entertained and for a moment forgets his multilingual litany of muttered curse words. Balt, Alfie and Gadreel join them early in the afternoon, bringing pizza and cases of beer. Despite being Angels they're not bad. Alfie is all shy smiles and helpfulness. Gadreel is solemn and can throw bitchfaces to rival Sammy's. Balthazar... Well. Dean can't figure out if he can't stand the guy or wants him around always because he tells these hilarious stories that you could listen to for hours and never be bored. But he’s also shamelessly flirting with Dean in a manner that is anything but joking and it makes his skin crawl. It's just... wrong. Not that Balt isn't handsome and charming, but guys just don't do _guys_. Period. It's not the order of things.

Dean wants to think it's disgusting, as was his dad's sentiment on the matter. He doesn't. At rare times he can see the attraction. There has been a few times men have made him do a double take. Good looks are not limited to women after all. And not that he'd ever admit it, but once he saw two good looking guys making out and got _really_ fucking _turned on_ by it. Now _that's_ disgusting. Not that they made out, but him being turned on by it. It's okay for others but he's not like _that_! He's not. Besides, what would his friends say if they knew? What would Sam say? To be honest with himself Sam probably wouldn't care jack shit about it. But the others? Media would have a field day! Now he could understand if you were stuck in prison for life, or caught on a mountaintop with no hope for rescue. A guy has needs, right? But as long as there are women around, it just isn't done, okay? It's wrong! And why is he even debating this thing with himself right now? It's never been an issue before and it's not like he's interested in Balt's propositions.

When Balt passes behind him and cups his ass cheek in one hand Dean finally snaps. "Hey! Lay off me! I'm trying to work here, okay!? Doesn't Raphael and your team have something against you fucking dudes anyway?!"

It's surprisingly Alfie that answers, looking up from where he is measuring the floor with a spirit level. "Raphael isn't bothered by _what_ sexuality we have, he is bothered that we _have_ one to begin with." He smiles ruefully at Dean. "That's what's up with the curfew. He thinks it stops us from getting off."

"Okay that's just harsh," Dean says. Talk about cock blocking. No wonder Gabriel preferred to start his own team rather than going back.

"Yes. Boy, am I glad Lucifer has the reins on that one!" Balt inflicts smiling. "Darling, you wouldn't believe the trouble I had to go through to make my nighttime activities take place during actual night time before Lucifer was made Captain." He winks at Dean.

"Morningstar?" Dean asks dubiously.

"He covers up for us or arranges for us to be able to invite dates without being caught as long as it doesn't interfere with our gameplay," Gadreel clarifies.

"As for ' _fucking dudes_ ' as you so eloquently put it, I say, why limit one's options when there's so much beauty in the world?" Balt says, eyes sparkling.

"You might be surprised to know this, Winchester. But many of us in the team swing both ways. We don't feel there's any shame in it. We just don't flaunt it the same way Balt does," says Alfie, turning back to his work.

"Huh." Dean mulls this through for a while and goes back to work slapping on putty on the wall, covering cracks and holes. After a moment he stops. Frowning he turns to the three Angels working in the room with him.

"Does that mean you have... you know....?" He makes an awkward gesture between them.

They all stop what they are doing and utter a loud " **NO!** " in unison. Like they're horrified at the thought.

"Now that is a rule Lucifer does enforce. Never within the team!" Alfie clarifies.

"It's a crying shame if you ask me." Balthazar grins and leans in conspiratorially towards Dean. "Because, darling, have you _seen_ our Cassie?? Those baby blues are the birthplace for butterflies inhabiting stomachs everywhere. I would not say no to a romp with that delicious piece of..."

"Hey hey, that's enough!" Dean cuts him off and glares. Something dark and ugly twists in Dean, he doesn't know why, but he does not want to hear talk like that about Sam's best friend.

"Oh. So you _have_ noticed him then, _hm_? Wouldn't mind taking him out for a ride yourself?" Balt teases but holds his hands up in a placating gesture and takes a step back when he notices Dean's dark expression and the fists clenched at his side. "Alright! Just fun and games. No offence meant."

"Screw you! He doesn't even..! He isn't even... is he...?" What the fuck is he blabbering about? Fuck.

Balt laughs good-heartedly and winks at him.

" _That_ , my friend, is something you're going to have to find out for yourself."

Dean mutters a couple of curses and broodily goes back to work while Balt launches into another one of his stories. Dean ignores him at first but in the end, finds himself laughing along with the others.

* * *

Their spirits are high and work goes fast. The smell of fresh paint, sawdust and varnish permeates the air. Angels and freewillians mix and cooperate together like it's the most natural thing in the world, not something that was basically unthinkable not too long ago. Laughter echoes frequently through the house along with sassy banter and friendly jibes. At some point Lucifer shows up too. Dean doesn't know when. He passes outside of a room on the top floor and spies Lucifer working along with Sam and Cas and he stops dead. Sam and Morningstar are talking too quietly for Dean to make out what they're saying. It seems relaxed and friendly enough. Then Sam's shoulder tense and Dean is about to launch himself into the room and fucking slug that asshole Lucifer when suddenly Cas is there, slipping in discreetly between his brother and his Captain. Asking Sam a question about something on a paper. Sam relaxes again and Morningstar turns to crouch down by the floor to start nailing a baseboard to the wall. Dean reins in his temper. They're all having a good time, right? And Cas is there. He wouldn't let anything happen to Sam, Dean is sure of. He'd ruin it for everyone if he started a fight now. Then Cas meets his gaze discreetly. Like he knew Dean was watching even if the other two were unaware. It makes Dean think that maybe Cas didn't slip in between the two incidentally. Yeah. He trusts Cas to have his brother's back, fuck knows why, but he does. Hurriedly Dean turns on his heel and goes to join Benny downstairs before he changes his mind about keeping the peace.

* * *

They're still at the house by midnight, work long since abandoned and now they're all sitting in the living room drinking beer. Upturned crates and the floor make up for the lack of chairs and tables. Now they're just talking, sharing stories and telling jokes. Dean and Lucifer keep themselves on opposite sides of the room but not even the tension between them can ruin the mood. Dean sits beside Sam while he’s patching up a cut in Cas' hand. Home repairs _really_ isn't one of his talents!

Benny sits with Andrea lying on the floor, resting her head in his lap. Those two are starting to get serious by now. Dean wonders if there's an engagement in the foreseeable future for them.

"I'm telling you, brother, if someone said to me six months ago I'd be helping an Angel restore his house without getting paid for it, I'd have laughed in their face," Benny says to Cas. "It makes me wonder, though. You're obviously out of your depth doing this, and not ashamed to admit it either. So why don't you just hire a contractor to do it? I'm sure you could afford it with what you Angels get paid."

Cas face is very serious as he thinks the question over. "I could afford it, yes, but I don't want that. When I came back here to Angel Falls I was in a mind to make this place my permanent home." He hesitates for a while before he continues, looking a tad bit embarrassed. "I think a house soaks up the spirit of those who dwell in it, until it takes on a personality of its own. You might say it grows its own soul. That's why I wanted to do it myself, or in this case - in the company of friends."

"That's deep, man," Garth says.

"Yeah well, good thing we are here to save you then, wingboy, because otherwise, its soul would have turned into one profane, grumpy son of a bitch!" Dean jibes and earns a round of laughter while Cas blushes with a smile and looks at the floor.

Dean hears Sam mutter "In that case, good thing ours burned to the ground," to himself. 

Dean couldn't agree more.

* * *


	22. Hit by the clue bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets teased by his teammates. Sam and Dean bicker. Cas is determined and manipulative. And then Cas gets run over by the clue bus by his teammates and the endgame changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Minor character death
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**JOKE IS ON YOU**

* * *

The next week goes by in a flurry. When Sam’s otherwise occupied, Cas keeps himself at the Garrison. Many of his teammates have gone off to visit family during the upcoming holidays. Not to get bored out of his mind now that he’s restricted from skating, he spends a lot of time with those who stayed behind. Just hanging in the common room or going into town.

One day not long after the big house repair day, he comes into the common room finding Balt, Gadreel and Alfie playing cards.

"Where's Sam today?" Alfie asks offhandedly.

"They are working today. I'm heading to their place later," Cas answers and sits down to write notes about possible strategies in upcoming games in his notebook.

The guys share a look and snigger. Cas ignores them. There’s some kind of ongoing joke on his behalf that he doesn’t get. Always when they ask about Sam. He isn't bothered by being the butt of a joke. To be allowed to make jokes on other people's behalf, you have to be able to withstand jokes on your own behalf, he figures. But this... He doesn't get what’s funny and it has become a daily occurrence. He doesn’t ask, though. Either they will become bored with it or somebody will crack and reveal the joke without prodding. People work like that.

"Oh, and Cassie darling! I tested your boy out when we were at your house. And you are so right! Definitely closeted and totally into you," Balt says, turning in his chair towards Cas.

Cas shifts his attention towards the guys, his expression one of interest. Of course, he knows that already. But his stomach flips strangely from hearing this confirmed from somebody else.

"Go on..." he urges. 

Balt grins like a Cheshire cat. "I flirted shamelessly with him. And as you know, you can see if the man actually gives you a quick once over to discern his own interest before he remembers how he is 'supposed' to react. A totally straight man doesn't do that."

"Definitely some evaluation going on there. Repeatedly," Gadreel interjects.

"Not that he was interested, sadly enough," Balt continues in mock mourning.

"Then Balt mentioned you..." Alfie says with a big grin.

"Gods in their blessed pantaloons! You should have seen it, Cassie! The possessive look on his face, puffing up like an alpha male peacock ready to strike. I bet he's all ready petting the purple-headed womb ferret thinking of you."

"Hah. I thought he was going to lay you out flat the moment you mentioned wanting to do Cassie, with the way his face darkened and he tensed up," Gadreel says, looking at Balt.

"Yes, he was totally at ease with being in a room with three bisexual men. He was like _'Oh, you fuck dudes too? Okay. Cool. Just stay the Hell away from my boyfriend!'_ " Alfie says.

"He's not my boyfriend," Cas interjects automatically.

"It's not healthy, though," Gadreel says and turns to Cas with a concerned look. "That kind of jealous behaviour. Be aware of what you're dealing with."

"Nothing I can't handle," Cas assures, secretly pleased. "Besides, the point is to mess with his head and possibly get some action between the sheets without destroying my friendship with Sam." He turns his attention back to his notepad.

The guys share another look and snigger again.

"Of course it is, darling." Balt nods solemnly.

"Mhm," comes from Alfie.

"Only that," Gadreel states seriously.

Then they burst into laughter and Cas rolls his eyes. What else do they think this is about?

About 30 minutes go by when they chat amongst themselves while playing. Cas is totally content just sitting close by doing his own thing. Then Alfie speaks up.

"Hey Castiel, do you know where Lucifer is? I haven't seen him for two days."

"He said he had some family business to take care of and would be back within a couple of days. Today or tomorrow perhaps if he estimated correctly." Cas answers.

"That's odd," Balt says with a truly surprised expression. "I've never heard him mention having a family."

"Maybe he had some estranged aunt go dead or something," Alfie offers disinterested. He comes from a huge Christian family up north that for many generations had taken Genesis 9:7 literally―' _And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; Bring forth abundantly in the earth, and multiply therein._ '―which means he has unknown relatives popping up with startling frequency.

The topic dies with that as Balt launches a story about an aunt, her bike and a handsy gibbon.

* * *

**PIZZA NIGHT**

* * *

_Incoming message...._

**Sam Winchester 19:35 PM:** _Could you stop for pizza on the way over? I'll leave the door unlocked._

**Cas 19:36 PM:** _Of course, Sam. What do you want?_

**Sam Winchester 19:39 PM:** _Thanks Cas! Two Vegetarian pizzas, medium._

**Dean Winchester 19:39 PM:** _Hell no! XL meatlover for me! And bring beer!_

**Sam Winchester 19:40 PM:** _Don't listen to my brother. Pizza is unhealthy enough as it is._

**Dean Winchester 19:40 PM:** _Hey! You can't let a rabbit food muncher decide Angel. Whatever he ordered for me is shit and you know it!_

Cas puts his phone in his pocket and ignores it continued buzzing. It's a little funny to think they're sitting at home bickering through their phones by texting him. He'll read the rest of the conversation when he gets home tonight. He orders a medium vegetarian pizza for Sam, XL meatlover for Dean, and a large 6 formaggio for himself. He buys two six packs of Dean's favourite beer brand and as an afterthought, he stops by a bakery on the way and picks up a pie. Raspberry is today's special. It's a bit tricky to balance it all and open the door to the Winchester apartment, but it goes without mishaps. The brothers are sitting in the couch, occupying a corner each. He puts down his load in front of them and watches Dean's face as it lights up.

"Whoa! You truly are an Angel!" Dean exclaims happily when he sees what he brought, eyes shining in delight when he looks up at Cas.

Cas fights back an urge to beam at him, only allowing the slightest curve of a smile show in the corners of his lips. The roller coaster in his stomach is doing loops.

"Dude! How could you choose him over me!" Sam protests and gives him a withering look. Not a serious one, though.

"A man should be allowed to choose what he eats, Sam," he says while freeing three beers from their carton packaging.

Dean flicks Sam on the upper arm triumphantly. "Yeah! Listen to wingboy, Sammy, he knows what he's talking about!" He grins. Sam just rolls his eyes with a small smile.

"Oh man! You brought pie! I could kiss you right now!" Dean exclaims once he sets eyes on it.

Cas picks up the rest of the beer and heads for the kitchen. "Yes you could, Dean," he answers once his back is turned, afraid his thought ' Please do!' will show in his face otherwise.

He listens to the brothers' friendly bickering while he puts the beer in the refrigerator. Once that's done he goes to flop himself down in the middle of the brothers on the couch. He splays his legs a bit so his knee is brushing Dean's. Sam has his legs stretched out under the table in front of them. Dean tenses for a beat then slowly splays his own legs a bit wider, making the contact greater. Cas is studiously _not_ looking at Dean, busying himself with the pizza box, and is rewarded by feeling him relax more at his side. Dean opens a beer and hands it to Sam, then another one for himself and finally the third that he hands to Cas.

"Thank you, Dean," he says and gives him a brief smile. He looks back at the TV, licks his lips and raises the bottle, letting it linger for a beat on his lower lip, mouth slightly open, like he’s distracted by the TV. He can see Dean tracking the motion out of the corner of his eye. He tilts his head back, drinks and slowly lowers the bottle to the table again, still like it was just due to distraction. When the bottle is out of general face/upper body level he licks his lips again, bites his lower lip and lets it slide out from under his teeth slowly, remembering Dean's reaction to that move at the restaurant. He feels Dean very discreetly shift closer beside him and his heart flutters.

Good boy. That show was all for you.

Sam is oblivious, intent upon the TV for real. They dig into their pizzas.

"Why are we watching the news?" Dean complains with his mouth full of pizza.

"I like to keep myself updated," Sam answers _after_ he has swallowed his food.

"Dude! You read the newspaper every morning. Do you really need to see it on TV too?"

"Maybe I do. So sue me."

They start to bicker again while Cas keeps watching. "Hey, guys! You might want to see this," he suddenly says and the brothers turn their attention to the TV.

" _... mpires' hockey player Gordon Walker was found brutally murdered today in his apartment in New City. Sources say that he was shot in the head and heart_..."

"Whoa! There is a God, and he's just!" Dean declares.

"Dean!"

"What, Sammy?! You saw what that asshole did to Cas! And you know as well as I do he had it comin'. It's not the first time he fucked somebody up on purpose! Whoever did it deserve a fucking medal!"

"You can't say stuff like that out loud, Dean, you realise how bad it sounds?"

"Yeah well, you're thinking it same as I do!"

"Maybe so, but..." Sam gets interrupted.

"That's not brutally murdered by the way. A bullet in the chest and one in the head, that's just making sure the guy's dead. Quick and clean. That’s too easy a way to go for a guy like him, if you ask me," Dean blunders on.

Cas sits quietly while the brothers bicker. He feels a deep satisfaction about Gordon Walker being executed. Because it must have been an execution. Two shots fired, one in the heart and one in the head, inside his own apartment. That’s no simple robbery. Gordon had finally stepped over a line and pissed off somebody more dangerous than he could handle. He wonders what Gordon had done to tip over the scale that caused his demise. He comes out of his reverie when Sam pokes him in the arm and holds up two DVDs. The discussion has moved on.

"What movie should we pick? We've narrowed it down to 'Die Hard' or 'Lethal Weapon'."

He chooses Die Hard. Dean keeps giving him 'accidental' touches all night. Cas has to strain himself not to look at Dean and to keep still. Enabling those touches but not acknowledging them. Baiting Dean without frightening him. He uses his bottle and fingers a lot to draw attention to his mouth. At one point he leans his head back as far as it will go, closes his eyes, stretches out his legs under the table, his arms above his head grasping one wrist and arches his back with a slow roll of his hips while letting out a sound between a groan and a moan. To somebody that isn't thinking about sex, it would just seem like he’s stretching out sore muscles and stiff joints. He wants Dean to associate it with having Cas pinned under him in throes of pleasure, exposed. A covert glance from under his lashes revealed Dean staring at him as transfixed, mouth slightly ajar, swallowing and licking his lips unconsciously. Good boy.

To reinforce that image he speaks when he sits back down.

"I'm sorry. I get so stiff by all this lack of activity. It's driving me mad. I can't wait to be allowed to move my body enough again. I need to exert myself to feel good." Innocuous enough. 

Sam, being none the wiser, answers.

"Yeah. Know what you mean. I once dislocated my shoulder and had to rest, like, forever. It was horrible! It felt like I was going through withdrawal or something."

"You probably were. Exercise releases endorphins after all. Just like sex or alcohol. You weren't getting enough compared to your normal dosage."

"You're right. Didn't think of that." Sam smiles and goes back to watching the movie.

Dean, on the other hand, has gotten a bunch of keywords dropped in his brain. 'Stiff', 'activity', 'allowed', 'move', 'body', 'exert', 'feel' and 'good'. Right after Cas had presented him with a demonstrative picture to go with them. And as Dean had proved at the restaurant, his imagination is easily provoked.

Not long after that Dean puts a hand on Cas knee when he heaves himself up to go get more beer. And then again when he braces himself to sit back down, the hand higher up then, and lingering for longer when he withdraws it. That's what Cas wants. For Dean to touch, seek contact, to yearn for Cas and lust for him until that ingrained denial and doubt no longer seems important. Cas finds it hard to control himself. Each little touch jolts butterflies to life in his stomach. And skin to skin contact like when their hands brush when Dean hands him new beers sends electricity through his body. Had Sam not been here... But Sam is. Cas really regrets he can’t stay the night. He has a follow-up doctor's appointment at 07:30 in the morning and the Garrison is closer to the hospital. Despite that, he feels like he’s floating on air when he leaves.

* * *

**ANALYSE THIS!**

* * *

"Hey, weren't you supposed to be with Sam today?"

"No. They're having dinner with Bobby."

_*shared looks and sniggers*_

********************************

"What's Sam doing?"

"They are at the shooting range, firing a couple of rounds. I'm meeting up with them later at my house."

_*shared looks and sniggers*_

*********************************

He's sitting in the common room. Slowly scratching a repetitive motion over and over again in his notepad. Mind adrift somewhere far away.

Luci, Balt, Alfie, Ephraim, Zack, and Gadreel are in the room with him. By now they've all at one point or another peeked over his shoulder at his notepad without him taking notice. Now they are all just sitting there staring at him with various degrees of amused smiles and barely held back laughter. Not the mean mocking kind, but the kind of fond amusement you feel watching puppies play and trip on their ears. Ephraim is the first to break.

"Castiel, where's Sam?"

"They’re at work," Cas answers absentmindedly.

His answer is followed by a round of sniggers.

"Are you even aware you're doing it?" Ephraim asks with a broad smile.

Cas finally looks up and furrows his brows. "Doing what?" he asks.

"No, he isn’t," Luci says causing the guys to suppress more laughter.

Balt gets up and snatches the pad away from him, making Cas jump to his feet. "Hey! Give me that!"

"Cassie sweetheart," Balt says with a fond smile while holding the pad away from him. "Every time we ask about Sam, you automatically include Dean in your answer, saying ' _they_ ' instead of ' _he_ '. You're so in love with Dean and it's above and beyond adorable to watch."

Cas brows furrow even deeper. "That's preposterous! I'm not in love with him," he protests, making the guys laugh out loud.

"Oh, but you _are_ , little brother," Luci purrs.

"Maybe you weren't before, but since you came back from your date..." Zack fills in and Cas interrupts him.

"It wasn't a date."

"...As I was _saying_ , since you came back from your _date_ , you have been totally gone for this man," Zack continues.

"Totally and utterly in love. No retreat and no surrender," Gadreel decrees.

Cas shakes his head. And the others giggle.

"No. I'm not in love. This is something else. I'm just obsessing. This is...." Cas suddenly goes totally blank. Like somebody flipped his off-switch. He’s just standing there, arms limp at his sides, devoid of expression, staring into some place beyond. For minutes. Then he reanimates again, brows furrowing in confusion this time.

"How do you _know_ that you're in love?" he asks.

"For starters, this," Balt says and turns the notepad around so he can see it.

'` **DEAN WINCHESTER**` ' is written in large, neat letters. Carefully traced over and over again thickening the lines and making them dark.

"The only thing missing are the hearts surrounding his name," Alfie points out, causing more sniggers.

"That doesn't prove anything..." Cas says dubiously.

"Aw come on, Cassie darling! You know I'm a hopeless romantic but you don't have to be some sort of advanced love guru―like _I_ am―to figure out you've hopelessly, over the top, lost your heart to that dashing fellow." Balt's smile is kind.

Cas tilts his head and peers at him curiously. "Please explain," he prompts.

"That silly smile you get when he texts you, the way you look at him when he is near, how many times you have watched that silly little clip of him singing and dancing that you refuse to show us but we've seen anyway since you get so lost in it you don't notice what we do around you. This whole spacing out thing that you do is a perfect example too. And if you try to tell me that man doesn't give you butterflies in your tummy I know you are lying!"

As the explanation is being given to him Cas’ expression slowly shifts from one of curious scepticism to one of wonder. "Huh," he says, seems to think it over and then adds, "So how do I get rid of it?"

The guys just lose it at that. Laughing their asses off while Cas patiently waits with an expression of mild annoyance.

"You don't ' _get rid of_ ' being in love, Castiel. Either the feelings go away by themselves or it ends in massive heartbreak, but you can't will it away," Zack explains mirthfully.

"Hmm... I must analyse this," Cas says with a ponderous expression, snatches the notepad from Balt and goes off to his room.

* * *

Cas lies down on his bed and puts one hand on his stomach and the other one under his head.

In love? Is that really what this is? Is that why he had such a hard time controlling himself around Dean? Is that why Dean could get under his skin when nobody else did?

He thinks about every crappy book or movie about love he'd ever consumed and realises that maybe he _is_ in love. With his best friend's closeted brother. Talk about an inconvenience. He is sure he'd been in love with Meg too, but it had felt nothing like this. Maybe he hadn't been _in love_ with her? Maybe he had just _loved_ her. He isn’t very experienced with emotions, after all. But that means he’s much more emotionally invested than he had believed himself to be. That’s not good. But then again, if he thinks about how he’d felt so many times in Dean's presence, like he was high, or on an adrenaline rush... Like a really good thrill ride. And that felt good. Frightening, but good. A kick worth chasing.

He could either avoid Dean as best as he could altogether, and wait either for the feelings to die down or heartbreak to set in. Or he could keep doing what he has been doing and slowly break Dean out of denial, mess with his head as he goes, even if that means a risk of getting hurt. Cas has never been a coward. He’s spent years adrift doing nothing but chasing kicks that made him feel alive for a little while. And if Dean can provide that by just being himself...

Yes. This is a new experience worth soaking himself in and see what will become of it. It definitely changes the endgame. If he has feelings they need to be reciprocated or he will be very vulnerable. So he needs Dean to become just as ... obsessed... (it still feels strange to think of it as being 'in love') with him as he’s with Dean. He isn't just going to sleep with the man, he’s going to _own_ him! He wants that wildfire all to himself. Dean would not even think about looking at another person when he’s done. Well then. Let's amp up the chase! A lot of patience will be needed and a slight change of plans, but Dean is going to be his.

He jumps up from the bed and makes his way to the common room again with determined steps. Once there he stops in the middle of the room, getting the attention from the guys. One look at him and the attention is total. He doesn’t know it but his fighting face has slipped on and he has the posture of a drill sergeant. The guys look a bit apprehensive, except for Luci who leans back in the armchair with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Dean Winchester is going to be mine," he declares with a determined voice. "And you are going to help me. First of all, I need as much personal information as you can garner..."

Zack groans. "Can't you just ask Sam?"

"No. Sam can't know unless Dean decides to tell him. Now shut up. We need to be covert about this. This is what I want; Personal information about his past, ex-girlfriends, likes, dislikes, where he buys his clothes..." Cas keeps on listing things he wants to know. Many of these things may not be relevant, but then again, many of these things may be totally impossible for Angels to find out, to begin with. He will, of course, needle information out of Sam too, but he has to be discreet about it. "....and any suggestions on how to use that information to my advantage is, of course, welcome," he finishes.

"You heard the man, hop to it," Luci reinforces as soon as Cas stops speaking.

After a little deliberating the guys leave for Freeville. Balt is super excited about it, Zack not so much, but they all go despite different degrees of interest. Only he and Lucifer remain, discussing options. Luci’s extremely amused by it all.

Zack, the first to return, brought a little gem of information that Cas gets really excited about using...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please. ^^


	23. Waving red in front of a Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is a manipulative little shit. Dean has trouble handling his inner conflict. Dean gets really angry. Cas likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- Anxiety attack  
> \- Violence  
> \- Angst I guess. (I mean _come on!_ It's Dean we're talking about! ^^')
> 
> Less sweetness in this chapter folks! More damaged souls. <3
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**JUST CUDDLEBUDDIES, RIGHT?**

* * *

“Well, I'm beat and this movie is not nearly entertaining enough to keep my interest intact. I'm going to sleep," Cas says and heaves himself up from the couch. He turns his head and looks at Dean. "Try not to wake me when you come to bed, Dean."

Sam looks a little startled then smiles brightly at Cas. "Good night, Cas. Glad you're staying."

"Good night, Sam." Cas returns Sam's smile before he leaves the living room heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Shit.

Shit.

Dean thinks he's going to have a full-blown panic attack with the way his heart is pounding and sweat is beginning to form on his neck and brow. He’s taken totally off guard by the natural presumption by Cas _and_ Sam, that Cas could just sleep in his bed without asking. But what could he say if they had asked? If he said no, Sam would want to know why since it had worked out so well last time, as far as he knew. And what was he supposed to answer then? 'He can't sleep with me because I like it too much and apparently plaster myself to him as some kind of perv in my sleep.' No. There’s no way he can explain to his little brother that Cas makes him think things he doesn’t want to think about.

"We're almost out of toothpaste, by the way!" Cas calls from the bathroom. Because _of course_ he has a toothbrush of his own here already. Sam had bought it for him after the first night he slept on the couch. Which spoke volumes about how happy Sam is to have him around. Dean had dated Lisa for two months before she got to leave a toothbrush behind and Sam had glared at it as if it was a stick of poison every time he saw it. Dean had dated another girl, Cassie, a couple of weeks and Sam had approved, buying her a toothbrush after a week of consecutive dating. She dumped Dean, though, when Dean after a month had decided he wanted something serious and decided to 'fess up about their upbringing. She called him a liar, saying nobody could have had it that bad and if they did authorities would have stepped in. Like he was playing some kind of pity card. So she dumped him for _lying_ to her. That had _really_ hurt! For once he had mustered up the courage to share his life's story and been burnt badly for it.

Cas comes out of the bathroom and goes to the kitchen, writes on the grocery list on the refrigerator. He turns his head and catches Dean staring and Dean feels his cheeks heating up.

Fuck!

Cas goes to Dean's bedroom and closes the door once he's in.

Shit.

Shit.

Does he expect to cuddle? Does Dean?

Yeah, he does. He thinks he may be allowed to do what they did last time. Cas had said so, right? That's what he's getting so worked up about. His leg bounces restlessly and the focus on the film is totally lost. As we speak, Castiel fucking-Unholy-Blue-eyes Collins is lying in his bed. Warm and fucking tantalising in a scary-as-fuck sort of way _in. his. bed._ Wearing nothing but tight boxers and a soft t-shirt you can feel his muscles through. And he smells so friggin' fantastic Dean just wants to rub his nose onto his skin and inhale deeply. And that's very disturbing. That Cas likes cuddling he can understand. He has thought a lot about his strange reaction to Dean's unwitting sleep cuddling when something Cas had said in the restaurant hit him. ' _87 affectionate touches. I counted._ ' And that was just pats on the back or a hand on the shoulder. No wonder he doesn’t mind Dean touching him! He had said it straight up too; ' _I like being touched_.' Since Dean remembered that, he’d felt more comfortable touching the guy. He’s being **nice** , okay?! So what if he does it as often as he can? He has a good excuse for it.

'Yeah. But that's what it is. An _excuse_ ,' a persistent little voice in his head keeps niggling at him. It would have been easier to ignore if his brain could just stop conjuring perverted images of Cas' lips around his cock, Cas pinned down underneath him lost in throes of passion, Cas kissing him, Cas doing this and Cas doing that. Now if that could just _**stop**_ , it would be great thank you.

He’s so screwed!

He’s sick, something is so _very wrong_ with him!

Fuck!

He feels nauseated. Sweating. Heart hammering out of control. Hot and cold all at once.

"Dude, are you okay? You look ill."

Dean startles when Sam speaks. His little brother is looking at him with drawn brows and concerned puppy eyes.

"Yeah...yeah, sure. I'm fine. Must have just eaten something bad..." Dean says.

"We ate a salad, Dean," Sam chides.

"Well mystery solved then!" Dean snaps irritably and feels instantly guilty for being a dick when Sam bitchfaces him (No.13). He sighs and runs a hand over his face, it feels cold and clammy despite him feeling overheated on the inside. "Sorry," he relents. "No, I don't feel so well."

"Maybe you should go to bed then?" Sam suggests, still concerned despite having a dickhead for a brother. Better than Dean deserves for sure.

Dean holds back the impulse to laugh, because yeah, like that is going to solve the problem? That _is_ the problem!

"Yeah. I probably should... You're right."

He goes to the bathroom and shuts the door. Grips the faucet ‘til his knuckles go white.

He can't do it.

He can't go in there and lay down in the bed next to the man he keeps having these perverted thoughts about.

He just can't okay?

He sets the water running and splashes cold water in his face. For a moment he thinks he's going to throw up. What would Cas say if he knew what Dean kept thinking about him? Does he even swing both ways? Would he be disgusted? Angry? Sure, wingboy hangs out with Balt a lot but that isn’t a guarantee he would be fine with having Dean perving on him. Could these fucking thoughts just **_go away_** so he could be normal again for fuck's sake!?

He stares at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. His freckles are standing out starkly against his pallid face. No wonder Sam got worried! He looks horrible. After he has spit and gargled he stands still for a while and just focuses on breathing deep calm breaths.

You can do this, Winchester!

You want this.

Nobody has to know, right?

Cas won't tell. He said so, right?

You can do this!

He towels his face dry and leaves the bathroom, bids Sam goodnight and enters his bedroom. He closes the door behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he locks the door just to be on the safe side. He doesn't want Sam to come in unannounced. Not that he does, like, _ever_. But if he would do so it would be the Winchester-Luck™ that he would time it exactly when Dean is wrapped around Sam’s best _male_ friend.

He divests himself of jeans and socks. Removes his T-shirt that is soaked through with sweat and digs up a fresh one from the drawers. He totally chooses the thinnest, most threadbare one he has because it's comfortable, _not_ because he would feel more of Cas through it. Then he turns around and looks at the bed which he has avoided until now lest he loses his nerves. Cas is sleeping almost in the middle but on his side of the bed.

_His_ side? Christ! He has slept there _once_ and you're already thinking of it as _his_ side! Get a grip Winchester!

He's lying on his side, one leg straight and the other one bent above it, his head and a foot peeking out from under the comforter.

Shit.

What do I do?

Shit.

Can't do this.

Can't.

Suddenly, without opening his eyes Cas lifts the comforter with one arm, creating an inviting open space in front of himself. "Don't just stand there and fret. Come to bed so we can get some sleep," he demands with a grumpy, assertive voice. Like Dean is some stubborn kid refusing to go to school.

It's the tone that does it. Cas is sure enough for the both of them. Like it's totally natural what they're about to do. Dean climbs into bed beside him and lays down gingerly on his side with his back towards Cas, barely touching. Cas is having none of it. He snakes an arm and a leg around Dean and tugs him in close. Then, with his leg, he nudges Dean's top leg to bend over his, forcing them into a mirror position of how Dean woke up last time. Then he settles, snuggling his face against Dean's neck. Blessed heat leaking through their meagre garments. Breaths on his neck making hairs prick.

"Perfect like this. Good boy. Good boy," Cas murmurs, silky gravel voice conveying that he's pleased. Making something in Dean's chest flood with warmth. Maybe he should feel insulted by the words, but he doesn't. There's nothing condescending in Cas' tone. And Dean feels so insecure and frightened by the situation and all the thoughts Cas makes him think that he latches onto the praise like a drowning man to a buoy, surrounding himself with them. He’s making Cas happy. He is doing something right, that feels good. 87 touches, remember? Now if he could just get his heart to calm― _the fuck_ ―down!

"Cas...?" he almost flinches for how small his voice sounds.

"Yes, Dean."

"You... You won't tell anybody, right?" he asks tentatively.

This causes the arm loosely draped around his waist to seek out his hand, intertwine their fingers, cradle them to Dean's chest and pull Dean even closer. He feels Cas lips move against his neck, voice vibrating through his skin when Cas answers.

"Dean. Close your eyes and listen carefully to what I say. What we do behind closed doors will remain a secret to the rest of the world unless you yourself choose to tell anybody. You are safe. It's just you and me here. Nobody will know. You have nothing to be ashamed of with me. I will not pass judgement. You can relax, trust me. Let yourself enjoy this moment. Let go of what's troubling you. I've got your back. Do you trust me, Dean?"

It's basically the same things he had said before, solidifying in repetition. His voice is soothing, assured. The almost monotone cadence lulling and hypnotic. Rough and smooth at the same time. Words calm and clear murmured into bare skin, travelling through his body and settling like a protective spell on his ribs. He lets himself relax into them. Believe them.

"I trust you, Angel." His voice is calmer now. Doesn't sound as small and scared. The scent of Cas, cocooned in his warmth Dean feels his nervousness bleed away and with it comes exhaustion. Anxiety attacks are taxing. But now he wonders why he worried in the first place. This feels great! And nobody has to know. It's their secret.

"Good. That's very good, Dean." He feels Cas smile against his neck. "Then trust me when I say I will not tell anybody what we do when we are alone... Good night, Dean."

"'Nite, Angel."

As he's drifting off to sleep he thinks he can feel a soft kiss at the nape of his neck. It must be a dream. But a good dream. Dreams are safe, nobody can see you in your dream. He dreams of Cas.

* * *

When he wakes up Cas is gone and he feels a pang of disappointment. He looks at the clock on his nightstand. He has slept for 12 fucking hours! That hasn't happened for, well basically forever if you don't count times when he'd been awake for almost 3 days.

There's a note taped to the inside of his bedroom door, he gets up to read it.

_"Dean,_   
_You slept so deeply I didn't want to wake you up. To be completely honest - I'm not sure if I could, had I tried. There's coffee in a thermos in the kitchen and I made you some egg sandwiches. I put them in a plastic wrapper in the refrigerator so they wouldn't spoil. Sam circled an article in the newspaper that he thought you'd enjoy. Something about a college kid being abducted by aliens and made to slow dance. He said that is what would happen if Gabriel had magical powers._   
_Thank you for your trust in me. I slept very well because of it._

_Have a good day._

_/Your No.1 Centerfold Angel"_

Dean feels totally like a sap when he reads. Christ! He's being doted upon even while he sleeps. And the sentence about 'trust' is double-edged, he knows. Cas is thanking him for the words spoken as well as the act, even if he doesn't put it to words as to not risk incriminating Dean should someone else read it. He’s all mushy and warm inside and a smile creeps up on his face.

* * *

**THROUGH THE RED HAZE**

* * *

_Incoming text..._

**Zachariah Adler 14:43 PM:** _Target is on the move. Estimated time for arrival 5-7 minutes._

**Castiel Collins 14:44 PM** : _Noted. Moving out._

 

Cas turns to the beautiful dark haired woman in front of him and smiles. "I'm sorry, miss Braeden, it seems my ride will show up any minute now. Perhaps you can accompany me downstairs so we can continue this discussion outside? I'd feel amiss parting from someone as beautiful as yourself prematurely," he says as he puts on his jacket and hefts his gym bag over a shoulder.  
"Please, call me Lisa. And of course, I will!"

This is going so much more smoothly than he could ever have anticipated. He hadn't even had to work on her. The moment he set foot inside the gym she’d zoomed in on him like a homing missile. And that’s even better, painting him as much more blameless to what he’s about to do. He can understand why Dean had dated her. She’s sexy, funny, and has a mischievous glint in her eyes that bespeaks promises of pleasure. She’s also good at flirting, good balance between appearing as a sure fuck and not seeming like a trashy slut.

Once outside she offers him to give him private yoga lessons. At her home. Perfect. He makes some innuendo joke about it that makes her laugh and put her hand on his chest. He steps closer, raises a challenging eyebrow with a lopsided smirk. Her eyes flick between his mouth and eyes. Perfect. He licks his lips and mirrors her gesture while slowly leaning in. She comes up to meet him and their lips seal on each other. He can hear the Impala coming up the road so he drops his bag on the ground and slides his arms around her, slips his tongue into her mouth and deepens the kiss. Her arms wind around his neck as she responds eagerly and pushes herself against him. She’s a good kisser. Another reason why Dean might have stuck with her for so long. He puts one hand between her shoulder blades and cups one ass cheek with the other, pushing her against his groin, feeling her grind back and making a noise into his mouth. By now it has turned into the kind of make out session that would earn a 'get a room!' by prissy bystanders if they'd had any. He feels himself grow hard from both the sensation and anticipation about how Dean would react. _If_ he sees them. Please, let him see!

* * *

On his way to Bobby's Dean spots Lisa outside the gym where she works, making out with some guy in a Team Free Will supporter jacket like she’s some kind of porn star. He’s been really hurt by Lisa. When they had been together for 3 months he had spotted her at a club making out with a dude pretty much like she is now, when she was supposed to be on a girls night out. He’d been shocked as he'd been sure they were exclusive. He certainly was. Not that they'd said it out loud, but still. She’d said she was in love with him and they slept together nearly every single night. It was kinda understood if you read between the lines. At that point, he was glad he hadn't said it himself. He had been enraged at first, on his way to just slug the guy and tell him to get away from _his_ girlfriend. But then Victor had seen him and started talking and before he could make up a good excuse to get away from him politely Lisa and the other guy were gone. Lisa didn't come home that night. Dean had raged and fretted and despaired. He'd spent the whole night and the day after thinking about it. When she came back to him the night after he'd been fully prepared to confront her and tell her to go Hell.

That didn't happen. When he asked what had happened yesterday she happily told him some bullshit story about Amber and Tiffany and staying at Tiffany's because she got too drunk. The lies rolled so easily off her tongue and without any sign of remorse. And suddenly he'd become desperately afraid that she would leave him. He'd ended up fucking her within an inch of his life instead. After that, he just ignored all the anger and hurt that welled up any time he came to think about it. Pushed away all those paranoid feelings anytime she went out with her girlfriends. It was harder and harder to believe anything she said, and he found himself eyeing strangers suspiciously wondering if they had fucked her too. For three months he pushed away those gnawing thoughts. Told himself it didn't matter. That it was probably just some one-time thing. But when they had dated for six months she’d said she wanted to have a kid with him and something within him had just snapped. Maybe before he'd seen what he saw he might have been thrilled about it. But he'd seen. He couldn't. Instead, he dumped her, pretending not to care. It had hurt like a bitch, lasting almost longer than they'd been together, before he finally got over her.

He doesn’t like to see her with others, though, and as he’s driving by he looks who the guy is and…

Dean slams on the breaks, Baby coming to a dead stop with a pained screech. Dean’s out of the car and stalking up to the couple without even registering opening the door. Blood red haze over his eyes short-circuiting his brain. He grabs the nearest arm on both of them and harshly yanks them apart.

"The Hell you think you're doing?!" he shouts at Cas, Lisa is the one who answers, though, making him turn toward her.

"Fuck you, Dean! You can't just come around after two years and dictate who I am with!" She spits, her eyes flashing angrily.

"Oh yeah?! It's better to make out here like some fucking street whore for all to see?!" He yells back while Cas calmly picks up his gym bag, slings it over his shoulder and puts his free hand in the back pocket of his jeans, face impassive while he watches them.

"What gives you the right to call _me_ a whore?! You're the one who've fucked every single girl in this town by now!!”

While he and Lisa scream insults to each other Cas shifts to a more comfortable position, resting his weight on one hip and the other leg pointing towards the Impala, seemingly totally at ease in the situation. Just waiting.

"You know what, Lis? You can go fuck yourself!!!" Dean screams, patience gone.

He grabs Cas' arm and hauls him towards the Impala. Cas doesn’t make a sound of protest.

"Get in the fucking car!!" Dean yanks the passenger door open. Cas complies and Dean slams the door shut behind him. He goes around, gets behind the wheel and steps on the gas. Cas is still calm, showing no sign of distress in face of Dean's rage.

"What the fuck, Cas!!? That was my ex's throat you shoved your tongue down! You fucking bastard!"

"My apologies. I didn't realise she meant something to you." Cas voice is flat and conversational.

"Shut up! She doesn't! That fucking slut," Dean spits and hits the steering wheel. Something about Cas' total calm fuels his anger. Cas is just looking at him with unreadable, unnerving eyes. He can’t even explain to himself why he has hauled Cas into the car in the first place.

"Fuck!"

Dean takes a curve sharply and turns into a now deserted rest stop by the road. He stops the car, kills the engine and launches himself out. Cas steps out of the car before he has rounded Baby so Dean grabs him by the collar of the jacket and pushes him back against the car. Leaning in close, face to face. "You don't fuck friends' exes, okay?!"

There is something showing in Cas' eyes now. He sees it when he's this close. Maybe it was there all the time. Something sharp, his pupils are dilated, yet he's showing no signs of fear. His body language is so fucking relaxed and doesn't correspond with the glint in his eyes. He's looking at Dean as... Fuck if Dean knows! He can't read it.

"You. Did not inform me that she was an ex-girlfriend of yours. In fact, you've never mentioned any of your previous relationships. Had you done so, I would not have allowed myself to be swayed when she came on to me, offering me 'private yoga lessons'."

Dean growls. He knows full well what a private yoga lesson entails. Images flash in his head. Cas naked on top of Lisa, sweat trickling down from his shoulders in the dip of his spine, hips rolling in a grinding motion, muscles playing, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed by lust, breath ragged.

"I did not fuck her, Dean. And I will not fuck anybody you'd take amiss about me doing, as long as you give me a good valid reason for it. You hear me, Dean? Give me a reason I can accept and I would never touch somebody without your say so," Cas says, calm and earnest, meeting green mad eyes with blue unafraid ones.

Dean's brain is slightly slipping from its insane state starts providing a reason through another set of images. No longer Lisa pinned under Cas, but Dean himself, hands wandering over Cas muscular, lither frame, gripping firm ass cheeks, grinding up desperately for more friction as cock slide against cock, hot wet mouths seeking each other, words of worship and praise murmured into skin by a smooth and rough voice. That's the real reason Dean is angry he realises and recoils in horror. Letting go of Cas and stepping back, panic flooding his mind with fear. Unfortunately, that leaves all functions except his lizard brain temporarily out of order. And his lizard brain, amped up on testosterone and adrenaline handles fear like it always has, by lashing out.

He takes a swing at Cas, hitting him on the cheekbone. Cas flows with the motion with his head, turning the hit into a graze by doing so, but Dean's ring still tears a little gash. Cas doesn't even grunt. Just straightens up again calm as ever. Dean throws another punch. This time Cas moves like a snake. He grabs Dean's wrist mid-swing, puts a leg between Dean's legs, heel facing inward and hip against Dean's hip. Then he twists Dean's arm while bending forward and Dean goes flying over him in a neat little circle, landing roughly on his back, breath beat out of him. He's promptly yanked up again and slammed chest against his car and finds both his arms twisted up behind him as if he's being arrested. He struggles to get air flowing into his lungs again and to get loose. Cas is a rock. Unmovable. Unyielding.

The panic Dean was nosediving into seconds ago dissipates by the shock of being manhandled. Dean's mind goes defensive instead while trying to keep up with the turns. "I thought you said you didn't fuck around?!" he accuses.

"No, Dean. I said I choose time and place when I do so. Not that I never do it. This was a good moment to blow off some steam. I'm banned from skating, have a lot of free time and get bored." He still sounds totally unruffled.

Cas leans over Dean, chest against back, pressing him firmly against the car but not harshly. "Calm down, Dean. I'll let you go once you've calmed down. I'm here with you. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not passing judgement. So take a few deep breaths and relax." Cas voice is soothing. One part of him rebels and makes him struggle futilely for a bit. But another part of him is grateful about being locked down like this, being rendered without a choice but to comply. And Cas feels safe. He's a fucking madman too, obviously, not batting an eyelash in the face of Dean's pent-up rage exploding in his face. But still a safe haven to hide in when everything swirls wildly inside of him. As he begins to relax he wonders how it got to this. At what moment Cas somehow clicked in place? For Sam, it had obviously been the moment they met. Dean remembers that first time too. How Cas eyes had bored into him, melted away his anger and replaced it with a sense of scary confusion. Maybe he was lost to those blue eyes even then, just not knowing it yet? Cas takes everything Sam and Dean throw at him without complaint. (General grumpiness not accounted for.) Just accepts them for who they are no matter what dickwad moves they pull. Speaking of dickwad moves…

Cas has slowly released his grip on Dean's wrists in step with Dean relaxing under him. Now Dean starts to tense up again, filling with another kind of panic.

Shit.

He’d just acted like the fuckwad of the century! What if he'd ruined everything now? Yeah so, fine. Cas had made out with Lisa. Cas was right about Dean not telling him about her, so he could hardly be blamed. She’s a hot chick. Cool in many ways and he knows she could be very determined when she wanted something. Cas hadn't deserved being punched for it! It's not Cas’ fault every cell in Dean's body had suddenly evolved into the seagulls from 'Finding Nemo' screaming ' _Mine! Mine! Mine!_ ' at the sight of Cas with somebody else. As for giving Cas a reason, 'Just because' will hardly do. 'Because I want you for myself,' would be a catastrophe! It isn't even just the impure thoughts Dean keeps having about the guy, it’s everything else too. How he gets along with Sam, how he dotes on the both of them, noticing small details like a fucking mind reader. Like with the coffee. Or keeping the cupboard stocked with Sam's favourite muesli, the organic home-grown shit you only can buy at the market on weekends that both he and Sam tend to forget. Or like that morning when Dean had overslept for work and kept running around in the apartment like a decapitated hen looking for its head. Cas had been on the couch reading, without even looking up he seemed to sense exactly what Dean was looking for at any given moment, just saying ' _Kitchen counter_ ' (keys), _'bathroom_ ' (phone) and as he was on his way out ' _Don't forget your lunch in the fridge_ '. What if Dean had just fucked all those things up and Cas left them??

_ShitShitShitShitShitShit!_

Then Dean’s being manhandled again. He’s spun around so he comes face to face with Cas and Cas cups his face firmly, locking their eyes.

"Hey! None of that. I told you to relax, and you will, you hear me?"

Dean manages a nod. Fuck. He’s a wreck. 

He stares at the gash and bruise on Cas' cheekbone. _Fuck_.

"Fuck I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to hit you."

Fuck. He’s just like dad! Hurting the ones he cares for and then begging for forgiveness like a pathetic loser.

Cas shrugs and strokes a thumb over his cheek before he lets go of Dean's face.

"Sure you did. It's okay. I gave you a 'pat on the cheek' in our first game, remember?" he says offhandedly using those stupid air quotes. "I figured letting you get that hit in, would equal things out between us." A slight smile curves the corner of his lip.

Dean scoffs. But relents. Okay. Yes. Hold on to that. Cas had lost his shit too on Dean. Right.

Cas digs into Dean's pocket and comes up with the matchbox and the pack of cigarettes, still untouched since the last time they smoked together. He pats one out, lights it, shakes the flame dead from the match and flicks it away. Puts the pack of cigarettes back in Dean's pocked and inhales deeply from the cig. When he exhales he says; "Sorry about that. I had to calm myself down."

Dean can't hold back a laughter somewhere between hysterics and relief at that. Cas has been cool as ice during this whole debacle. It’s ridiculous!

" _Dude_! The only way you could be calmer is if you were dead!"

"Don't let appearances fool you, Dean. I'm anything but calm right now." Cas smirks with a glint of warm humour in his eyes.

Yeah right.

Cas takes another drag on the cigarette and hands it to Dean who accepts. Smoking so seldom as he does the nicotine hits his lungs and his body like an icy balm, relaxing him further. Cas’ persistent acceptance of what happened helps too.

"What's with the jacket?" Dean asks to change the subject and tugs at Cas collar loosely. It's a Free Will supporter jacket, not what you'd expect an Angel to wear.

"It helps us to move around unmolested in Freeville. We used to move in pairs, but I found a jacket such as this renders us virtually invisible. People see the jacket and do not connect it with us Angels. Now all of the guys have bought one."

"Huh. ....That... That's actually pretty smart," Dean concedes. "Wonder why nobody thought of that before?"

"That's obvious. You guys used to hate each other too much to even entertain the idea."

They hand the cigarette back and forth while they're talking. They are still standing very close, not nearly enough distance between them for normal decency. Dean doesn't care. He likes it this way. He wants Cas close. Closer still, but that would be straying into forbidden territory, crossing a line. Cas is weird. He has no boundaries. Normal rules don't apply to him. But even he would get it if Dean all the sudden tugged him in, plastered himself around him. Being cuddle-buddies (is that even a word?) is one thing. But here, in the open? Without a good excuse? Cas would figure out what Dean’s really thinking about him and recoil in disgust. He’s sure of it. That’s what he would have done if their roles were reversed and he didn’t have the hots for Cas.

When the cigarette is burned to the filter and Cas has stomped it out he says; "So what do you say? Cheeseburgers or Chinese?" with a cheeky grin, like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. And right then Dean thinks he might love the guy with how he takes everything in stride. He's not going to leave. He cares jack shit about Dean having some freak meltdown. 

Just like that, everything is alright again.

* * *

The wildfire unleashed is a thing of beauty. It's like pure ecstasy to Cas. Dean feels things so strongly and shifts between feelings so fast! To be honest, Cas hadn't been exactly sure what kind of reaction he would get from Dean seeing him and Lisa. It had been a bit risky. If Dean still had strong feelings for Lisa and wanted to get back with her, the effect might have been the opposite of what he wanted. Cas wants to trigger Dean's possessiveness which he was sure he would do, remembering the scene with Pam. But he wanted to trigger it about himself, not Lisa. And, oh boy it had! Red in the face and black-eyed, Dean had come storming like the demon media had baptised him as. He still had control, Cas could see that. If he didn't he would have resorted to violence right away and Cas would have stopped him. Cas had been reeling under the onslaught of his own emotions which had been, well, just; Wow! Dean possessive and angry is about the most erotic thing Cas had ever seen! His own insides had been going haywire! Affection, excitement, longing, awe, adoration, arousal, all mixed up with adrenaline created an incoherent jumble inside of him. By his own standards, he could barely function.

He rarely felt strong emotions to begin with so each of those feelings at that volume would by themselves have been enough of a marvel for Cas. Being hit by all of them at once...? Just wow. Was that what it was like for the majority of people? Was it why so few looked at situations involving relations to other people analytically? Why people made mistakes so easily?

Dean wears his feelings on the outside. He’s impulsive and instinctual in how he acts. The odd thing is how affected Cas is by him, how he triggers all these new sensations within Cas. Like they have some kind of bond through which Cas could gain access to the full spectrum of emotions that are usually denied to him. It’s frightening. It’s addictive. It is―as Dean would put it―awesome! But as in the original meaning of the word; ' _Causing awe or terror; inspiring wonder or excitement_.' Not like Dean thought the pepperoni pizza from Joe's in the city is awesome.

Cas hadn't managed to calm down properly until Dean had launched into an enthusiastic description of the work he was doing on the engine of one of Bobby's restoration projects, while they were eating cheeseburgers. And he had gotten the impulse to lean over and give Dean a goodbye kiss when he dropped Cas of at the Garrison. He hadn't done so of course. That would ruin everything. It was a matter of push and pull, divide and conquer. He needs to break Dean down to pieces, purge those pieces from the remnants of the Hell he grew up in, the shackles of his father's tainted teachings, and rebuild Dean with his own hands. Metaphorically speaking. If he pushes too hard too fast, Dean will panic and shut down. Cling to the things he knows in desperate confusion. And Dean ‘knows’ his feelings for another man are wrong. When Cas is through with him, he'll know they aren't.

And then there is this little grain of worry in Cas stomach. What if he can't get Dean to fall in love with him? What if the only things Dean feels is a strong sense of sexual attraction paired with a sense of ownership? That puts Cas on the wrong side when it comes to leverage. That’s scary. That puts Dean in control without being emotionally invested in Cas. Not that it changes anything. He would never back out of a game because he’s scared of losing. Cas is just not used to feeling uncertain and insecure. He guesses that’s the risk one takes when playing with fire. You might get burned.

When Cas comes home he runs into Luci. Luci takes one look at him, eyes turning sharp as they flick to his cheekbone and up to meet Cas' eyes. He raises a questioning eyebrow. When he does, Cas puts a hand over his cheek and drops the mask he’s maintained these last couple of hours. His face splits in a huge happy grin, his eyes flood with joy and he beams at Luci. Allowing his brother (as he thinks of him now) to see what he _really_ feels about what had occurred. Luci seems taken aback at first. Then he shrugs with an amused expression, mutters "Well, how about that..." and goes upstairs to his attic apartment.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Writing angst is sooo _not_ my speciality!
> 
> Right. As always, please comment! It means a lot to me and fires my inspiration! :') <3


	24. An important day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas doesn't see the importance of a certain calendar day, Luci intervenes. Dean gets a questioned answered unexpectedly. Sam might be misinterpreting Dean's reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> The quote on Cas' T-shirt is from 'Pushing Daisies' for those who might be interested.
> 
> Phew. Had to re-write a great part of this chapter. The way it played out a first would have been way too angsty and mess up the upcoming timeline plus cancel out a key scene ahead. It would still be a good story, but not _our_ story.
> 
> References for the shirts Sam buys: Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, Sherlock, and Top Gun.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**SAGITTARIUS**

* * *

One morning, a few days before Christmas, Lucifer steps into Cas’ room and seems to startle from seeing him there. His brows furrow like he’s troubled while he watches Cas silently where he’s sitting by his desk. "What are you d... Where is Sam?" he asks at last.

"He and Dean went out of town with Bobby to visit friends of the family," Cas answers.

"Hmm... Are you meeting up with them later tonight?" Luci asks, still troubled.

"They won't be back until tomorrow evening."

"Huh," Luci says, apparently not pleased with the answer. After a moment's silent staring at Cas he speaks up again. "What are your plans for today?"

"I was going to write down different strategies for when the season starts up again, watch a movie in the common room, maybe read a book," Cas answers. Lucifer seems even more displeased with this answer.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"December 21st," Cas answers, his eyebrows furrowing, but in confusion rather than displeasure like Luci's.

"That means nothing to you?" Luci asks, now deeply troubled.

Has he forgotten something? There’s no doctor's appointment today, most of the team is at home with their families for Christmas so there’s no team meetings, no games, no nothing. Cas shakes his head. This seems to upset Luci greatly, but instead of saying anything he turns on his heel and leaves the room. Cas stares at the door for a moment wondering what Luci wanted. Then he goes back to his notebook, figuring that if it’s important Luci will let him know.

It takes less than 30 minutes then Luci returns again. He goes straight for Cas' wardrobe and digs up sneakers, washed out jeans, a black belt, and a red T-shirt with the text "I'm not God, but if I was, I'd be an angry God - Emerson Cod" printed on it. He puts his findings on the bed then turns to Cas.

"Put that on, only that, bring your wallet, phone, and a pair of sunglasses and meet me out front in 3 minutes," he orders and then leaves again, only stopping briefly at the door to add “Oh. And underwear, if you wish.” Then he’s gone.

Perplexed, Cas instantly moves to follow orders.

When he gets outside Balt is standing there wearing black jeans and a grey V-neck T-shirt, Luci is equally under-dressed for the frigid snowy weather in dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt with "GooOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!" printed on it in orange letters. Both are wearing their 'Up to no good'-smiles. There's a cab parked by the sidewalk. Luci opens the back door and motions for him to get in. Once Cas is seated Balt slides in next to him and Luci takes the front seat. The cab drives off, apparently having gotten the address of their destination already as no instruction is given to the driver now. Cas wonders where they are going but doesn't ask. If he needed to know in advance he would have been informed, in another case, it would become apparent as they got there. The cab comes to a stop by the nearest airport...

* * *

"Son of a bitch! We should have stayed at home!" Dean complains as he sets the snow shovel aside and stomps the snow off his boots on the porch. "I swear the bastard only wanted us to visit to get some free labour!"

Sam rolls his eyes and dries the sweat of his brow with his coat sleeve. He loves his brother and all, but when Dean decides to be a whiny bitch, he’s the whiniest bitch of them all. "He could hardly know in advance that a snowstorm was going to hit when they didn't even know on the weather channel, Dean," he chides.

"For fuck's sake! We've been shovelling for three fucking goddam' hours, Sammy! I mean, how much fucking snow can clouds spew out in less than an hour?! More than a shit ton apparently and the two old fuckers complain about bad backs to shirk work?! Yeah well, now _I've_ got a bad back! And my fucking arms are fucking jelly! _And_ I'm soaked with sweat!"

Sam zones out Dean's continued rant and opens the door to Pastor Jim's house. Warmth and the scent of cinnamon, cloves, and oranges hit the brothers as they enter. None of them waste any time to divest themselves of their outdoor garments and then go to change into dry clothes. Dean keeps up his profane litany of complaints until they come into the living room and Bobby cuffs his ear and gives him a scolding. They are served hot spiced wine and told that dinner will be ready in an hour. Dean flops himself down on the couch and digs his phone out of his pocket, Sam sits down in an armchair and watches Dean. Grumpily Dean taps out a text. His phone dings from a reply. He sends another text and gets another reply.

"Holy fuck! The lucky bastard! Sam, take a look at this!" Dean exclaims and hands over the phone to Sam.

**Dean Winchester 18:43 PM:** _Get your lazy ass over here and help us shovel snow wingboy!_

**Cas 18:44 PM:** _As tempting as that offer sounds I'm afraid I can't, I've been kidnapped._

**Dean Winchester 18:45 PM:** _What do you mean 'you've been kidnapped'?_

**Cas 18:49 PM:** [ _Picture attached_ : Cas lies on a sun lounger wearing nothing but his tight boxers and aviators, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He's holding himself up on his elbows looking at the camera smiling, a brightly coloured drink decorated with fruits in his hand. Balt is sitting up on a sun lounger behind Cas, drink in hand, facing the camera, smiling too. He is also only wearing underwear. Behind them, there's a lively beach and blue ocean. A third person is obviously taking the picture.]

"Oh wow. He's there right now?!" Sam says and hands the phone back, Dean just shrugs and lays down to stare grumpily at the picture.

Sam digs up his own phone and calls Cas at once, putting the phone on speaker without a second thought. Cas picks up on the third ring.

" _Hello, Sam._ "

"Hi, Cas. What do you mean you've been kidnapped?"

“ _Apparently Luci was vastly upset when he heard I had no plans for my birthday..._ "

Sam interrupts him. "It's your birthday today?!"

" _Yes, today I turned 26 years old._ " There's laughter in the background and Cas says something to someone on the other end of the line, then goes back to talking with Sam. " _I'm sorry for the interruption. I'm well and truly inebriated by now. Luci and Balt have been throwing colourful drinks at me from the get-go. They seem intent upon filling me with every conceivable shade of the rainbow._ "

"You never told me today was your birthday," Sam says, inadvertently a bit hurt.

“ _I didn't think it was of import. Luci only knew because it's in my file. We never celebrated birthdays in my family. In fact, this is the first time I've ever celebrated it._ ”

"You're shitting us!" Dean chimes in from the couch at the same time as Sam says "You're kidding, right?!" The brothers share a flabbergasted look.

Cas laughs at their reaction. " _No, I am not joking. So it's safe to say I'm having the best birthday celebration of my life so f..._ " Cas is cut off by the sound of tussling. ". _..No! Balt... Give me that!.._ *laughter* _...I'm gonna..._ " Then Balt's voice takes over the conversation.

" _Is this the boyfriend?_ " Balt asks, laughter evident in his voice. (" _He's not my boyfriend!_ " Cas protests in the background.)

"Hey! Put Cas back on the phone again!" Dean scowls, sitting up on the couch again with a rigid posture.

"Hi, Balt. Could we talk to Cas again for a moment?" Sam says only a beat behind Dean.

" _Ah. Both of you. That's a shame, I was going to_... (".. _Balt! Don't you_ dare _!._." Cas threatens in the background.) ... _Oh well! I'm sorry chaps, we have been invited by a beach volleyball team to do body shots so Cassie's time is spoken for. But don't worry. Your boy's virtue is and will remain somewhat intact. Oh, and you wouldn't believe how well Cassie can handle his liquor! It's like he has no bottom! Now, Ta-Ta!_ " With that, the line goes dead.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

"Did you hear that?!" Dean says, still all rigid and with an odd expression on his face.

"Yeah. I can't believe he never celebrated his birthday before! That sucks!"

Dean looks confused. "Yeah. Yeah, no. That totally sucks! We gotta take him out for a party of our own when wingboy gets back. That's not what I meant. What did Balt say about a boyfriend? Cas has a _boyfriend_?!" Dean sputters the last sentence.

Sam scowls at him. "What if he does, Dean. Would that be a problem for you?"

"Yeah! No. I... I didn't know that's he's like _that_." Dean’s looking distressed and it rubs Sam the wrong way.

"And what's ' _that_ ' supposed to mean? Does it really matter to you? Cas is still Cas! And no, he doesn't have a boyfriend. He's not seeing anybody at the moment considering he spends all his free time with _us_. It shouldn't matter, Dean! He's a good guy!" Sam lectures. He’s afraid Dean will start behaving like a jackass towards Cas because of this. He doesn't want that. Not now when they've finally started to get along so well. Judging by how Dean's mouth is working soundlessly and his expression is somewhere between bewilderment and a scowl, Sam thinks he's right about Dean not taking this right. He gets defensive on the behalf of his friend and blunders on. "You know what, Dean? Cas has told me about some of his more adventurous affairs he's had and he has no pre-set gender preferences whatsoever. I'm not even talking about guys or girls. He is totally open-minded and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you be a dick to him because of it! It shouldn't matter! Hell, even _I_ have kissed guys befo.."

Dean interrupts him looking friggin' terrified, holding his hands out like he's trying to put the words back in Sam's mouth from afar. "Keep it down! Bobby might hear you," he hisses.

Sam rolls his eyes and yells; "Bobby! Can you come here for a sec?"

Bobby pops his head in from another room. "What?"

Sam looks at him and calmly says "I've kissed guys."

Dean looks like he's going to pop a brain vessel and Bobby just stares passively at Sam for a beat. "Is there a point to this story, son?"

"Nope. That's it."

Bobby stares back and forth between Dean's apprehensive nervous face and Sam's impassive one a few times, then he shakes his head and leaves the room muttering "Idjits," under his breath.

Dean turns his head back to Sam. "When?"

"It was in high school, when I used to hang out with Ruby, the blond one, you remember?"

Dean nods, eyes big and round like he has trouble comprehending what is said. Maybe he has.

"When you went out partying, so did I. And at those parties we played spin the bottle and truth or dare sometimes. There was especially one guy, Brady, that seemed to have a thing for me and he'd always dare me to kiss him."

"Did... Did you.." Dean screws his eyes shut and drags a hand across his face. Then he looks up again. "Did you like it?"

Sam shrugs. "I didn't _not_ like it. Good looking guy. Good kisser. But it didn't really do anything for me one way or another,” he lies. “The way I see it - just because dad was a narrow-minded asshole about stuff like that doesn't mean I have to rule it out on principle, even if it turned out to be not really my thing." Sam berates himself for not daring to tell Dean the full truth right away. On the other hand, Dean’s the only one whose opinion he’s worried about when it comes to these matters.

"Why have you never told me that before?" Dean asks, clearly agitated.

"Oh my God, Dean! This is exactly why! I was afraid you'd make a big deal about it and give me shit I don’t deserve. I knew you'd freak out about it!" Sam snaps angrily.

"Yeah well, whatta ya think! How would _you_ feel if you walked in on me doing a dude?!" Dean snaps back equally hostile.

"I would feel like I always feel when I walk in on you doing _anyone_! Molested and mentally scarred! That's why we decided the rule about keeping any of your activities _**in your room!**_ Which, by the way, is a rule you seem to forget about _way_ too often!!" Sam's volume has gone up as he worked up steam, gesturing angrily along while he talks.

Dean seems to be about to shout something back at him when Bobby comes in carrying two plates of food, a beer and utensils.

"What are you two yapping about?" he asks grumpily when he puts the plates down in front of them and then sits down on the couch beside Dean.

"Dean found out Cas isn't completely straight and he's being a total dick about it!"

"You boys remember old man Fred Jones? Who we visited at Sunset Fields Retirement Home in Oklahoma City?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah, he gave me my first beer, I wasn't even in double digits yet," Dean reminisces.

"Me too. What's that got to do with this?" Sam says, a bit confused and annoyed about the subject change.

"You remember his roommate of 30 years, Mike, who died shortly before Fred moved into Sunset Fields?"

The brothers nod.

"They weren't roommates," Bobby concludes and takes a swig of his beer.

Sam feels his eyebrows climb up towards his hairline and forms a silent "O" with his lips.

"And you're okay with that?" Dean blurts incredulous.

"Why shouldn't I be, boy?" Bobby says irritably.

"I dunno.. I'm... I just didn't think... " Dean’s having some kind of brain meltdown judging by how eloquent he’s being.

Sam has to snort at that. It’s kind of funny to watch Dean struggle.

"That's right, son. You didn't think. What a man does in his bedroom is his own damned business."

Pastor Jim comes walking into the room carrying plates filled with food, throwing himself into the discussion with a smile. "Last week I married the first gay couple in our congregation! Sweet pair. I'm glad they finally had the courage to make it official."

"That's great, Jim." Sam smiles when Jim serves a plate to himself and Bobby and proceeds to sit down in the other armchair to eat.

The discussion drifts off to other topics whilst they eat. Dean is just quiet, broodily stabbing at his food. Sam keeps throwing worried glances at him, but doesn't say anything. He's worried about how this will affect his brother's attitude towards Cas, but in many ways, the foundation of what Dean thinks he knows about his world has just shifted, so Sam leaves him alone. The broodiness goes on through the evening and then Dean retires early. Sam can't get that knot of worry out of the pit of his stomach though.

As he himself is about to retire for bed he decides to see if Dean's still awake, to talk to him. He quietly, in case his brother is asleep, pushes the door to the guest room open and pokes his head in. His brother doesn't notice. He’s awake. He's lying on the bed with one hand under his head and the other holding the phone up, on his chest. Staring at the phone, lost in thoughts. The screen shows the picture Cas sent of himself on the beach. Every time the screen goes dark Dean taps it to make it light up again. He sighs heavily once and just goes back to his staring. Sam watches him for several minutes and then closes the door again. His brother is obviously working through this and maybe it's just best to leave it alone until he sees if Dean can act civil towards Cas when they meet again.

* * *

The next day Dean’s still quiet, seemingly lost in his own world. The two of them take a trip to a nearby mall where they split up to buy Christmas presents and, Sam at least, a birthday present for Cas. Sam buys a couple of long-sleeved T-shirts with the kind of prints ('Keep Calm and the answer is 42', 'I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.' and 'I feel the need—the need for speed!') that Cas is so fond of. He also buys one of those fancy coffee machines for Cas' home that’s almost done on the inside. For Dean he buys super sound boosted headphones and some clothes. Then he buys presents for some other people too. Once he’s done he goes to their decided-upon meet up spot, but Dean isn't there. He shows up 15 minutes late with an open-mouthed grin and eyes glowing.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, got distracted buying presents for Cas." His brother all but beams and wiggles a plastic bag in front of him.

Sam looks at the print on the bag. "You got his presents at a toy store?" Sam asks, bemused.

"Hell yeah! Got him the most innocuous torture device ever made, the bane of all parents, pure curse generators!" Dean blabbers and pulls up a huge box of...

"You got him _Lego_?" Sam asks, totally baffled.

"Yup! He'll love it!"

"Okay, first of all, how is that torture devices? And second, why do you think he'll love it?"

"Dude! Have you ever stepped on a piece of Lego? Torture!"

Sam shrugs. When you look at it that way… "Seems legit. So for the next question...?"

"Yeah okay... So I figured the guy has had a just as crappy childhood as us but he doesn't even seem to realise it. The more he lets on about it, the worse it gets. I mean _come on_! Not celebrate birthdays? Dad might have been shit but he'd still fucking bake us a cake if he was sober! Which he was for our birthdays. And then add in wingboy's love for nerdy TV apparel, how amused he was by Mr. Fizzles, how distracted he gets by cartoons on TV? Guy hasn't even had a childhood! Hence - Lego."

Wow. His brother noticed more about Cas than Sam has credited him for. And as silly as it all sounds Dean has obviously done some serious thinking about this! This definitely alleviates Sam's worry about Dean being a dick to Cas. This is quite the opposite, even if it might pan out wrong.

"That's very thought through, Dean." Sam smiles at him and his brother beams.

"Oh! Oh! Got this for him too!" Dean exclaims enthusiastically and digs up a smaller box from another bag. He holds it up for Sam to see and Sam can't hold back an amused chuckle.

"Jellybeans?"

"Not just any jelly beans Sam. _BeanBoozled_ jelly beans! They're awesome! There are a bunch of flavours and any of these colours has a disgusting taste and a good taste and you can't tell them apart until you try one. Like buttered popcorn and rotten egg! There's even one that tastes like booger. How do they even _know_ it tastes like booger? Do they have a dude that walks around and taste the beans and then digs out a sample from his nose to compare? _How_ , Sammy?"

Sam laughs. "And why did you buy them for Cas?"

"Um... Well, I couldn't exactly buy him a box of chocolates... And Gabe is a former Angel, right? You might say he's a fallen angel, and he eats a lot of candy. And I said in that TV message that I was gonna make wingboy fall, right? And if fallen angels need sugar to function... um..." Dean is practically tripping over his explanation looking both slightly confused and flustered.

"Dude! That is so far-fetched and doesn't even make sense!" Sam laughs, thoroughly amused.

"Shut up, Bitch! It's _awesome_ , okay? I don't need a reason to buy awesome stuff!"

After that, the mood has shifted and outwardly at least Dean is in good spirits, all signs of broodiness gone. Sam is actually pretty curious to see what Cas will think of Dean's gifts, childish as they may be. They end up going back to the jelly bean store to buy some for Gabe too, just because you don't need a reason to buy awesome stuff for awesome people. And what did a box of chocolates have to do with anything? It’s hard to keep up with the inner workings of his big brother sometimes...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. :)


	25. Being Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside Dean's head...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Very graphic description of physical and mental child abuse.  
> Sorry about that. The Winchesters had a rough childhood, Dean more so than Sam.
> 
> Title based on movie Being John Malkovich
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**FLASHBACKS AND AVIATORS**

* * *

Cas is like _that_. Cas is like **_that_**! And Bobby, Sam, and Jim think it's okay. At least they say they do. Shit. What does that even mean? Does that mean these thoughts he keeps having are okay? _Hell no_ they aren’t! He’s still perving on his little brother's best friend! _Christ_! And just because Cas swings both ways, it doesn’t automatically mean he’s attracted to every fucking man on the planet. And it definitely doesn’t mean he wants _Dean_ of all people. Dean's a fucking mess. A shell filled with pent-up anger and unfulfilled needs. Something is broken in him and has been, since long before his dad went up in flames. He tries to hide it, to make up for it. Being a good brother - he’s sure he is, most of the time. Being a great hockey player, great at fixing things. He knows he has good looks and charm. It’s just superficial. He has something dark and twisted inside of him and if Cas comes too close he'd see it and recoil in horror. What Dean finds himself wanting from Cas, would be a poor trade on Cas’ part. If Cas only knew he'd leave for good. Hell, even Sam would probably leave him if he knew.

He can't figure out if it’s a good or bad thing that Cas swings both ways. Good, in the way that now he at least he doesn’t have to feel like he’s 'mind raping' somebody who'd be disgusted by the mere thought of another man touching him _that_ way. Bad, because all the sudden his fucking head doesn’t want to suppress all these God damned emotions and desires any longer, and becomes more persistent in showing him all these fucking images of why he shouldn't. _Bad_ , because when he allows himself to sink into one of these fantasies his brain conjures up for him and actually jerk off to them, another part of his brain will ram him with vivid flashbacks without any prior warnings at any given moment. What used to be just fuzzy memories are triggered to life like it happened yesterday. And as a testament to how twisted his soul is these days he doesn’t even lose his erection while he waits for the flashbacks to fade back to fantasy.

...Cas laid out on a sun lounger, teasing smile playing on his lips, a faint sheen of sweat covering his skin, looking up at Dean straddling his lap, there's challenge in his eyes, aviators pushed up in his hair. Dean strokes his hand over Cas’ chest, fingers ghost over a nipple, it peaks under the light touch. Cas’ breath hitches, the glint in his eyes turn from teasing to wanting. Dean leans forward, tastes the salty skin in the crook of Cas’ neck. He smells like sun-warmed skin and just Cas. He ghosts his lips upward on Cas’ neck, to his jaw, over his cheek and down towards his lips. When their lips meet, barely grazing, Cas' hands circle Dean's shoulders, wanders down his back, burning hot and causing a full body shiver. "Perfect like this," Cas says, words coming out roughened by desire before their lips seal over each other and tongues meet. One hand cradles the back of Dean's head, another squeeze his buttock, pulling him as close as can go. Their erections brush together through their shorts eliciting sounds of pleasure from both of them, vibrating from one mouth to another. Bare skin slides against bare skin―

―stinging pain erupts from his cheek and sends him staggering backwards. He resists the urge to cover his cheek with his hand, instead, he stands up straighter and clasps his wrist behind his back, forcing himself to meet dad's eyes. Sam is standing beside him, looking at dad with big round eyes.

Please, Sammy, don't speak, don't speak, _don't speak_! Dad's drunk and drugged, it'll go bad. Just hold your tongue and don't say anything! _Please_ , Sammy!

He tries to mentally push his prayer to Sam's mind. To no avail.

"I don't understand, dad. Dean just asked why it was wrong of those men to hold hands. Why did you hit him?"

Fuck. Stupid fucking 8-year-old who can't keep his mouth _shut_!

And who is Dean to talk? They'd seen the two men holding hands walking by on the street outside their house, laughing happily, and dad had sneered 'Disgusting!' and spat after them. Dean, stupid fuck as he was, hadn't thought, just opened his mouth and asked 'Why?'. No wonder his little brother was stupid, it obviously ran in the family.

Dad turns toward Sam, eyes glazed over by his drunken state.

"Are you being snippy with me, son?"

"No!... No. I just don't understand, dad," Sam says, getting afraid now that he meets his father's eyes.

"Two people of the same sex together is a crime against nature!" Dad spits.

Dean fills with trepidation. This is going to go bad! Don't talk anymore, Sammy!

"But it happens in nature all the time, dad! I've seen cows ride each other up at McKenzie's farm. And, and, in school, they said that unmated ducks sometimes formed boy-boy couples..." Sam argues desperately. Frightened, but wanting to understand.

Dad's eyes go black from anger and he takes a step forward. Dean quickly shoves Sam aside and hisses "Go to your room!" to his brother. Sam swiftly scurries away. Dad moves to follow Sam so Dean gives him a light shove with one hand on the chest and says; "Yeah, Dad. Why is it a crime against nature when it happens in nature?" He pitches his voice into defiance. He doesn't care about the answer, what he's really saying is 'Forget about Sammy, I'm the uppity one! I'm the one you should pay attention to.'

The stinging backhand sends him sprawling, his ear ringing. Dean scrambles up as fast as he landed. Standing straight, hands clasped behind his back and meeting dad's gaze. Black eyes watching him glazed with disgust and scorn. Adrenaline spiking, heart beating frantic in his chest, trepidation causing nausea. He stands his ground, knowing what's expected of him. Knowing his dad might remember Sammy if he runs away.

"Figures _you'd_ ask that. You look like your mother. _Way_ too pretty for a boy. Boys ain't supposed to be pretty, Dean. Only boys that are pretty are fucking faggots! Disgusting diseased cocksuckers! Is that what you are, boy? A filthy little cocksucker?"

"No Sir!"

"Not yet then. Bet you want it, though. Batting those long lashes of yours. Bet you can't wait 'til you're old enough to let some dirty unwashed trucker fuck your ass in a filthy rest stop toilet. Beggin' for it like a useless whore! You're useless, Dean! Good for nothing shit! Is that what you're gonna grow up to become? A useless Nancy boy?"

The words sting worse than the hits. They always do. Dean feels chilled from the inside, burn stinging behind his eyes. He doesn't cry. Crying will make it worse. Not make the hurt go away.

"No Sir!"

"That's right, son. No son of mine is gonna grow up to become a revolting fucking faggot. It's sick and wrong! It's a disease, Dean! I'm gonna cure it off ya before you get it. Go to the kitchen and get the knife."

Dean feels his gut drop and blood drain from his face. This is the worst part. He can handle the fits of rage and the uncontrolled beatings that blow over as fast as they come. But this... This only happens when dad has 'checked out' and still is 'here', when he has mixed sleeping pills and booze. He won't even remember it the next day and if Dean fails to hide his welts so dad sees what he has done he'll be devastated and cry. Dean will have to hold him and comfort him and tell him it's okay. It isn't. This is the worst punishment of them all, the one Dean must choose. Panic is welling. He shuts it down and moves to obey. He comes back with the specific knife, a partially serrated drop point blade, that he'll have to use for this. Both handle and blade are black except for the edge. No light reflections would alert an enemy if you'd use it for sneaking up from behind. He knows what comes next but still waits for the command.

"Go to the garden and cut yourself a cane."

"Yes, Sir."

Dean moves to obey. This is the worst. This is the part he hates, that breaks him before punishment has even begun. If he chooses a too thin branch it will tear up his back to a bloody mess like a whip. Or break. If it breaks the punishment will be prolonged as he'll have to go out and cut a new one. A too thick branch risks breaking bones. Too short - too much damage, too long - it would break. As he searches for a 'perfect' cane he has to gauge each branch and imagine what they'll feel like and what damage they'll do to him. It's torture in itself.

When he comes back with a freshly cut branch he presents it to dad and puts the knife away while his dad inspects it. Apparently, dad is pleased.

"Take off your shirt, pull down your pants and bend down over the couch armrest," dad commands.

"Yes, Sir."

Each rap burns like fire on his back. Overlapping. Searing. Dad is not keeping a steady rhythm so he can't predict where and when the next blow is going to land. It spikes fear. Tenses him up. If he squirms, the punishment will be prolonged. The pain is encompassing. His world is on fire. Be still. Be quiet. _Man up!_ It'll pass. Blinding pain. Dean bites down hard on his forearm not to scream, tasting blood on his tongue―

―Dean bites down gently on the soft flesh on Cas’ chest, tasting salt with his tongue. Cas lifts his hips to make it easier for Dean to tug off his shorts and underwear while he kisses and licks Cas stomach. He nips at Cas' hipbones and looks at the cock as it springs free from its confinement. Already hard, flushed red, pre-come beading at the top. He wants to taste it. He kisses his way to the base of the cock and looks up at Cas. Blue eyes watching him glazed with lust and warm with affection. "You're so beautiful, Dean. Perfect for me. Such a good boy." The silky rough praise warms Dean from the inside out. He licks his way up the underside of the cock and watches Cas' head fall back and his eyes close when Dean engulfs his cock with his mouth...

Shit. Fucking _great_!

Now he is not only fantasizing about a guy. No. Now he has to go imagine himself sucking dick! Dean Winchester does _not_ suck dick! But apparently, the thought of doing so gets him turned on as fuck, according to his nether region. That’s fucking sick. It’s easier to cope with a wish to be touched than with the wish to touch. How can they say this is okay?!? It's a fucking disease. And Dean has caught it. And caught it bad, because the more he thinks of Cas the worse it gets. Worse now since the Lisa incident, when he realised the true source of his jealousy. Every time he tells himself _not_ to think of Cas his brain goes; 'Did you say ' _think of Cas?_ ' Well alrighty then!'

Fine! So maybe it is a disease! But maybe, maybe, _maybe_ Cas would not thwart his efforts if he does gather up the courage to step over the proverbial line in the sand. And in that case, maybe he _likes_ the disease. He'd probably need the liquid courage equivalent of a whole liquor store to take that step. That's not the point. The point is that he really _wants_ to take that step. Somehow all those flashbacks of the worst points in his childhood that keep popping up make him waver in the opposite direction one would think. Dad's body is salted and burned and yet his ghost haunts Dean and that makes him fucking _furious_! After that day, when he'd come home to find dad strangling Sam and he had fought dad for real, he had never stopped hitting back. The fear of losing Sammy had burst open a dam of rage that’s next to impossible to repair. They had lied and hidden the true state of their home situation for so many years for fear of being separated. He'd be damned if he'd let _dad_ bereave him of his sole comfort and purpose in life! And dad was sick. For real. He was mentally ill and should, as Dean can see now from a grownup perspective, have been institutionalised. Instead, they wrote him prescriptions for pills you weren't supposed to mix with alcohol, which dad of course did. Dad didn't remember half of the things he said or did the last couple of years, he was so out of it.

Dean clung to the bad memories like Sam did to the good ones. Take birthdays for an instance, considering Cas― _holy shit, how was that even possible?_ ―hadn't really had any. He'd just gotten older each year without noticing. Right. Dad was fantastic at remembering birthdays. Most of the time actually. He'd try to stay sober and keep off pills even during panic attacks just to give the boys good birthdays. He'd put on mom's flowery apron and bake birthday cakes from scratch. He'd buy gifts. Books and science gadgets for Sam. A new bike, handgun or knife for Dean. He'd take them out to do something special, go fishing, skiing, hunting, or eat at a restaurant. He'd fucking save money for months to make that happen! Not so much on holidays though. Holidays had been their mother's speciality which meant that dad usually drank himself to unconsciousness. Often before he'd pass out he'd hug Dean tightly and tell him how much he loved him, how much he reminded of his mum, how special he was to dad. Those words rang like lies in Dean's ears.

He doesn’t want his dad's ghost to dictate his life today. But he’s far from ready to expose to the world that he likes a _guy_ in a way that’s far from platonic! Especially when he doesn’t know if it is reciprocated. It’s not Cas’ fault his voice rings like a siren's song to Dean. The words from the restaurant, directed at the waitress or Dean, didn't matter―' _Perfect. You're magnificent. Beautiful_.' , ' _So brave. You're extraordinary!_ '―Dean imagines they were spoken to him and it encases him in a warm, safe feeling. Makes him want to hear them again. Like that stupid ' _Good boy_ '- thing Cas use to say. It’s silly, because Dean’s hardly a boy and Cas is just a year older, but he still wants to please Cas, just to hear him say it.

Sometimes, though, Dean feels angry at Cas for making him want all these things. That sparks fantasies that are far from nice. It’s Cas own damned fault for saying what he did in the restaurant!

_'Another time I'd let you bury your hands in hair, dictate movements with tugs and yanks. Fuck into the mouth with abandon. Shove your cock deep down the throat and hold it there until the gag reflex kicks in and tears stream down the face, if that's what you want. I would let you. I would let you do that, Dean.'_

And _fuck_ if Dean doesn’t want to do just that! Just fucking manhandle the guy, claim him, dominate him like he’s Dean's fucking _goddam property_! Rip him out of his default calm impassive state, and have Cas _let him_ do it! Cas is **his**!

Well. He isn't. But he _ought_ to be.

How do you even court a guy? He can’t exactly show up at the doorstep of the Garrison with a box of chocolate and a bunch of roses, now can he? He has literally no clue whatsoever how to show a guy he’s interested. Especially since he doesn’t want anyone besides Cas to know about it in case he’s shot down. Or even if he isn't for that matter. Just consider the mayhem if the media found out! Whether he'll ever find the courage to take this step or not, there is one thing he can do, wants to do. And that’s to make Cas smile that dorky gummy smile of his that makes his nose crinkle. That would be a step in the right direction both as a friend and as a hope-to-be-more-whatever.

And would you look at that picture? Fucker looks good in aviators!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I'm a sucker for comments. ;)


	26. The candy man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes a mistake and Gabriel hands out a lollipop. 
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Oh and I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. I know it's corny but I had to go and write us in to the story as a little side note. What? They do it in canon after all. *studiously looking innocent*

* * *

**CHOICES**

* * *

Today Dean has promised Bobby to help out with a car and Sam meets up with Cas to fix the last things in Cas' house and then clean it up. Indoors it's finally done, there's just the outside left to renovate and that has to wait until spring. Cas had thrown out almost all of the furniture he'd inherited and during the afternoon the first new furniture he'd bought is delivered. Just a soft big cream leather couch with a matching loveseat and armchair, a living room table in dark wood and a huge red rug that’s so plush and fluffy you probably can sleep comfortably on it. They have decided that tomorrow they will celebrate Cas' birthday as Dean will be free then too. Sam, remembering what Dean has bought Cas, suggested they'd break in the new living room then. He fears he'll end up stepping on Lego if they celebrate at their place. Late afternoon Dean gets a text informing him of all this and telling him that Cas is going to stay over at their place tonight.

Dean has a total freak out. He’s so nervous about seeing Cas again, he can’t muster up the courage to go home. Instead, he goes to the Roadhouse. The whole gang is there. Victor, Ash, Adam, Garth, Benny, Pam, Jo, and Andrea. Dean’s just going to have one beer. It turns into one more, and one more, and a round of shots and... Well, you know how it is. The later it gets the drunker _he_ gets. In some stupid misguided notion to prove to himself that he doesn’t feel like he does about a guy, he ends up seducing a perky redhead and follows her home. While getting it up is no problem, finishing proves to be next to impossible. It feels like he’s cheating. He ends up having to fake an orgasm just to get away from there. (And those who claim guys can't fake it, as long as nobody checks the discarded condom - how would you know?)

At two fifteen in the morning, he slides the key into the front door and steps inside. Cas is sitting on the couch watching TV and twists around to look at him. Dean freezes in place and stares back. Heart rate speeding up and a ball of guilt clenching in his stomach. Silence stretches between them.

Fuck. They aren't together, why does he feel like a lousy cheater caught in the act?

Cas sniffs the air like a friggin' hunting dog and his face goes from soft to hard. His eyes narrow.

"You reek of perfume," he says and shuts the TV off.

He gets up and walks towards the hallway, Dean still frozen in place, staring apprehensively. Cas snags his supporter jacket and puts it on, then picks up his boots in his hand.

"Where are you going?"

"As you obviously sought your comfort elsewhere tonight - I'm going home." His tone short and clipped.

"Hey, don't be like that. I'll shower," Dean says, hating himself for the pleading tone of his voice. He reaches for Cas' shoulder but Cas takes a step back, shying away from Dean's hand looking faintly disgusted.

"Don't touch me. I do not want that stench clinging to my clothes."

The rejection stings, his arm falls limply back at his side. Guilt twists and Dean goes on the defensive. "Oh yeah? What? You want to control who I fuck now?" Dean says bitterly.

Cas’ eyes narrow further, glinting of anger. He snorts and leans in close to Dean's face but keeping his body away avoiding accidental touch. "No. I do not wish to _control_ your actions, Dean. The only person whose actions I wish to be fully in control of is myself. And I will act in accordance with your _choices_ as I see fit." He taps the embroidered text ' _I support Free Will_ ' on his jacket chest to make a statement that isn't hockey related. Then he pushes the door open and walks towards the elevator. Halfway down the corridor he stops and turns, pins Dean with his eyes. "Let's get one thing straight, Dean. I am not. Have never been. And will never become. Somebody's _second_ choice!" Then he turns, steps into the elevator and is gone.

"Fuck!"

Dean’s left staring at the closed elevator doors for a long time. Inside swirling with guilt, remorse, hurt, anxiety, stinging rejection, anger, longing, shame. None of the feelings are good and as usual, he has brought them on himself. Of course Cas is too good to be treated like this. Too good for him, an insecure fuck up like he is. He wonders if Cas is going to give him the silent treatment tomorrow. If he'll even be welcome in Cas' home?

Then Dean goes inside and takes a shower, scrubbing his skin clean of the girl's clinging perfume. He continues scrubbing his skin raw long after the perfume is washed away.

* * *

Cas puts on his boots in the lobby, silently fuming. He _knows_ this is a long-term project. He _knows_ the ride won't be 100% smooth. He’s angry at himself for being so affected by it. This must be what jealousy feels like. Another new feeling to him and he doesn’t care for it. Not. at. all. And the bloody wanker had the audacity to look _guilty_! It would have been better if he'd come home with a big grin declaring 'Heya, Cas! You'd never guess what a gorgeous bombshell I managed to bag myself tonight!' and then content grabbed a beer and plopped himself down in the armchair to boast. Cas would have stayed, shared his conquest if only in words, asked Dean to take a shower before coming to bed and then reaped the spoils of delayed post-coital cuddle. Cas doesn’t really mind the thought of Dean fucking someone else as long as they share, one way or another. As long as the conquest is nothing more than a glorified sex toy and Dean is _his_. Which he isn't. And yet he is. The guilt and shame etched in Dean's face and body language told him that. So Dean had taken something that rightfully belongs to Cas and given it to somebody else and then regretted doing so and _that_ pisses Cas the Hell off! He actually found himself envious of whatever stranger Dean had chosen to be with tonight, even though he knows she meant nothing or Dean wouldn't have come home at all.

Cas steps outside and curses silently at the snow slowly falling. The snow on the pavement is trampled into a soggy mess that has frozen unevenly and is covered with a new layer of soft soggy snow. It makes the trek down the deserted streets perilous and uncomfortable. He curses again when wet snowflakes land on his head and on his neck, finding their way inside his collar. In his haste to leave he'd forgotten his beanie at the Winchesters'. It’s a long walk back to the Garrison.

He hasn't gotten far though before a rusty old clunker comes down the street and stops by his side. He bends down and peers in as the passenger door opens a crack and the driver leans towards Cas.

"Hey there, kiddo! Need a ride?" Gabriel asks.

Cas doesn’t hesitate for a moment to get in, shutting the door behind him with a thud.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Please, call me Gabe, or Gabriel if you must," Gabriel says and digs around in the glove compartment until he finds two lollipops. He offers Cas to choose one. Cas doesn’t decline, he picks a purple one, leaving Gabe with a brown. Cas takes off the wrapper, throws it on the floor and puts the lollipop in his mouth. He doesn’t say thanks. Gabe isn't bothered. He throws his wrapper in the back instead and puts the car in motion.

"This is not the car I was told you drove," Cas concludes, pushing the lollipop into his cheek when he talks.

Gabe grins. "A car for every occasion, kiddo," he says and winks at Cas.

Cas doesn’t ask what occasion would require a clunker in the middle of the night. He can think of several reasons based on Gabriel's personality. All filed under the category 'the-less-you-know-the-less-you-can-tell-during-interrogation'.

"So... this is a rare and unexpected opportunity for a heart to heart. What's up? Lovers' spat?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Cas looks sharply at Gabe who catches his look and rolls his eyes.

"Oh _please_! The way you two are fawning over each other, it takes a lesser man than me to figure it out. The last game you were acting like two lovestruck swans performing a courting dance!"

Cas snorts in amusement. "That obvious, huh?" he says, smile twitching in the corners of his lips.

"Yup. To some at least. Mainstream media thinks it's just an act for the demon/angel thing you've got going. And most of the twin town people have branded Dean the ultimate ladies man so they close their mind to other possibilities. Now in the interesting part of multimedia, however, your presumed romance is a big thing! They even write fanfiction about you two," Gabe chirps, grinning with amusement.

"What's fanfiction?"

"Basically, customized porn. About famous people like yourself."

"And you read that?" Cas asks, bemused.

"I like to keep myself updated about what's posted about my team by fans. Although, I skip anything with tentacles. Gotta draw the line somewhere. But apparently, the intense love life of Demon Dean and the Centerfold Angel is very alluring to female hockey fans."

Cas can't help the baffled laughter that comes bubbling out of him. He has to pop the lollipop out of his mouth not to choke on it. Gabe is grinning widely at Cas' reaction.

"Does Dean know?" Cas asks once he's gathered some sense again.

"Nah. Kid would go into shock and die of mortification for sure, if he did!"

"Well I can assure you, my love life is anything but intense at the moment," Cas says with a wry smile and sucks the lollipop back in his mouth. It tastes like sugar and artificial grapes. He looks out of the window, watching the dark streets pass by, dimly lit by sparse street lights.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into, kiddo? That's one big bag of gummy worms you two kids are about to open up," Gabe says, suddenly serious.

"I'm sure Dean can handle my ' _gummy worms_ ', as you say," Cas answers dryly, using air quotes as usual.

This time it's Gabe's turn to almost choke on his lollipop. " _Dean_ can hand...?!?" He doesn't even finish the sentence before bursting in a full body laugh. Cas has to grip the steering wheel with one hand to keep them on course. "Of _course_ you'd come with your own set of worms, Novak," he says when he gets his wits about him and takes the wheel again.

Cas stiffens. "It's Collins," he corrects.

Gabe frowns and waves his hand dismissively. "Don't think that you can fool me. I trained under your father as a kid, and I have on several occasions seen you and Miss Masters compete. "

Oh.

"I didn't know that. Have you told anybody?"

"It's not my business to reveal others’ secrets. ...Unless it's funny or they are dicks who deserve it." He grins around the last sentence and Cas find himself responding to it.

"Mh, I've heard some of the pranks you've been up to from the brothers. Your nickname 'the trickster' seems very apt."

"Indeed, kiddo. Speakin' of the brothers, there's still a spot on the team should you wish to play with them instead of against. Just think of what you and Dean could accomplish playing together!"

"We will play together. On the national hockey team," Cas states as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Gabe chuckles. "Well buy me a pony and paint it in pink! You certainly are Mr. Novak's son! No false modesty there."

"No empty boasts either." Cas snorts. He likes Gabe. There's a distinct sharpness under the veneer of happy clowning. An edge of bright intelligence.

"I've come to understand from Sam and Dean that you've meant a lot to them over the years, helped them out more than necessary for a stranger to do. Which I gathered that you were when you started helping them," Cas says.

Gabe gets that evaluating sharp look he had when they first spoke on the ice, studying Cas for a while before he decides how to answer. He chooses a serious answer. "I saw a lot of myself in Dean when we first met. Well, except for the brilliant sense of humour that is. Did he tell you how we met?"

Cas shakes his head.

"I caught him red-handed breaking and entering on my property. He was in my house, stealing clothes and food for himself and Sam. He had yet to turn 14. Their father had gone off the grid for a week without leaving them any money." Gabe’s watching him, gauging his reaction. When Cas just keeps looking at him the same way he continues. "He had so much anger in him. Fear too, but he challenged anyway. I didn't call authorities. His biggest fear was to be separated from Sam and I know how the social workers deal with foster care in these towns, they would have been. Instead, I did something similar to what your dad once did to me. I gave him a fixed point of security and an outlet for his anger. He wouldn't accept handouts so I made him a deal. He'd join the team and come to practice at least four days a week and I'd make sure there were food and clothes to be had, if they were lacking. It's not all of the story, but the rest is not mine to tell," Gabe concludes and Cas nods thoughtfully.

"Turn left at the next crossroad, we're going the back way," Cas tells him.

"Why? The Garrison is up ahead."

"A car for every occasion... I've noticed there are often nightly police controls by the hidden fork in the road up by the Garrison," Cas answers.

Gabriel grins. "I like you, kiddo. You're sharp!" he says. He turns left.

* * *


	27. Unbirthday party!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean come to Cas' house to celebrate his birthday. Cas is a tease. Dean gets one of his worries put to rest.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coplins).
> 
> No warnings for this chapter. It's just silly really. Silly could be a warning.

* * *

**PARTY LIKE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY**

* * *

Dean is nervous as Hell when they walk up the pathway to Cas' house. They've brought the presents, beer, booze, snacks, a birthday cake (which he had baked, because apparently, he's the housewife in the family) and those small candles you put on it. Dean had insisted they'd buy the Angel flame birthday candles, the kind where each candle burns with a different coloured flame. They're more expensive, but they're awesome. For once when Sam started spouting science facts about how it works Dean already knew. He'd soaked up any and all pyrotechnic information their dad had ever hinted at knowing and proceeded to study more of it on his own. Fire and explosives fascinate him.

Right now, though, he worries Cas will turn him away at the door after last night. Sam, of course, had thrown a total bitch fit this morning when he discovered that Cas had gone home to sleep. ' _Dean, what did you do?!_ ’ (bitchface No. 22) ‘ _You must have done something or Cas wouldn't have left!_ ’ What was he supposed to say to that? ' _I cheated on my secret cuddle-buddy because I couldn't muster the courage to meet him due to having an equally secret crush on the guy who incidentally happens to be your best friend too._ ’

Yeah right.

He hates that he always gets blamed when something goes wrong. He hates that the blame all too often is justly placed.

He needn't have worried.

Cas flings the door open before they're even halfway there. Bouncing up and down like a happy child. "I've got the fireplace running!" he calls to them and runs into the house again, leaving the door open for them.

He’s been busy. There are two new doormats, one of each side of the door. The one on the outside reads " _Doorbell broken. Yell ' **DING DONG!** ’ really loud._" The one on the inside reads " _It's bigger on the inside!_ " and has a picture of a blue police phone booth on it. They go to put the stuff they'd brought in the kitchen. Cas has gotten a new set of pots and pans, a set of knives, eating utensils, plates and bowls and some glasses. There are a bunch of silly magnets on the fridge. And once they open the fridge they discover that Cas has stocked up with some basics that keep basically forever. Ketchup, mustard, jam and whatnot. There are two bottles of champagne cooling. The cabinet is stocked with canned food. According to Sam Cas doesn’t cook very well except for the basics.

They walk into the living room, carrying the presents and beer, where Cas is busying himself lighting scented tea lights. He has hung up dark red curtains held away with golden tasselled ropes. There are two pictures framed on the mantelpiece. One of Lucifer, Cas, and Balt, taken on Cas' birthday. And the other is the selfie of him and the brothers on the Roadhouse. It warms Dean that the first thing Cas did in his new home was put up pictures of the three of them. (Even if Balt and Morningstar got to be part of it too.) Even if the walls are bare and the furniture sparse the general atmosphere of the room is warm. Maybe because of the fire burning or because of Cas’ chipper mood. He insists they start with champagne instead of beer as it’s the first official use of the living room. Cas keeps bumping into him or grazing him any time they are close, sending Dean's heart thumping wildly and colouring to his cheeks. Cas is definitely not mad at him anymore!

Sam comes in with the cake and puts it on the living room table, the candles are already on it and Dean quickly lights them.

"They're beautiful!" Cas exclaims and goes down on his knees in front of the cake, crosses his arms on the table and rests his chin against them, coming eye level with the multicoloured flames, a huge delighted grin on his face.

"Hah! Told you, Sammy!" Dean triumphs. Sam rolls his eyes and sits down in the armchair.

Dean goes down on his knees too, mimicking Cas, on the other side of the table so they are eye to eye, only the cake between them. He watches Cas watch the flames, grinning just as brightly. "They're called Angel flames. Fitting, huh?" Dean says. Cas eyes flick to his for a second before they go back to the flames. Wait. Is he...? Is he _blushing_?

"You're supposed to blow them out and make a wish, Cas," Sam tells him with a warm smile.

Cas eyes flick back to Dean's and hold his gaze when he answers. "Some fires are too extraordinary and beautiful when they burn hot, to be extinguished for the sake of mere wish making. If I want something, I'll get it. And I want this fire."

There’s something in how he says it, in the mischievous glint in his blue eyes, that makes butterflies explode in Dean's stomach! Dean feels his cheeks heat up and a stupid giggle escape him. He promptly flicks his gaze to the flames instead. Certain he’s the same colour as the brightest red of the flames. Lucky Sam sits behind him and can't see.

Great! Now I'm a blushing fucking _teenage girl_ all the sudden!

"Oh my God! You're such dorks the both of you!" Sam exclaims with exasperated fondness.

Yeah. And now _Sam_ is calling _him_ a dork! The world has turned upside down! But it sure felt like Cas wasn't talking about pretty candles! Christ! He’s hearing what he wants instead of what was said. It makes him feel totally gooey inside. Yeah. Let's just pretend it wasn't about the candles.

Cas looks back at the candles and sniggers. Does he _know_ what he’s doing to Dean? Or was that directed at Sam's dork comment?

They cut and eat the cake. Cas eats like he did at the restaurant. Taking small dainty pieces with his spoon and savouring each one. Dean eats like he always does. (Shut up, Sammy! I don't gobble!) After that, they open the presents. Cas proves to be super fun to give gifts to because he’s so delighted by them. The coffee maker is the first opened. He has to go install it straight away. Then he comes back and sits on the floor next to Dean, taking the next gift Sam hands to him. It’s the shirts. Cas laughs happily at the prints. Of _course_ he just has to try them on at once. And of _course_ he decides to do it right there, on the floor, beside Dean!

Cas crosses his arms and grabs the hem of both hoodie and undershirt at once and pulls it over his head in one languid motion like a fucking pro stripper or something.

_Son of a bitch!_ Fuck! Shit! Crap! Fucking _Hell_!

Cas nipples stiffen when the colder air hits them. He's toned and smooth and lithe but still very masculine and yet it fries Dean's fucking brain! _This_ is what he has been jerking off to the last couple of days! _This_ is what he has thought about on and off since the restaurant! But he has fantasised about fucking _pictures_ and here he is, less than an arm's length away from the real deal and it's _soo_ much hotter! Cas stretching and curving his back as he pulls the shirts off... Dean suddenly remembers all the stunts he pulls on the ice and realises that this guy can probably give Lisa a run for her money when it comes to being bendy! Dean's mouth goes dry. Not the right thought to be having about your brother's best friend while your brother is watching! Dean adjusts his position so it won't show that his body is currently redirecting blood _away_ from his brain.

Cas’ shirts come off, leaving his hair looking like he has just been fucked. (In Dean's eyes anyway.) He looks at Dean with a lopsided smile and holds out his shirts to him.

"Could you hold this for me, Dean?"

"Um... Y..Yeah. Sure." His voice comes out raspy and he licks his lips unconsciously.

"Thank you, Dean."

Does the bastard look smug or is he just imagining it? Cas' expressions can be so subtle it is hard to tell. Their fingers brush as he takes the shirt and it's like fucking electricity going straight to Dean's cock and sends off a new explosion of butterflies on its way there. Dean resists the urge to lift the shirts to his nose and inhale.

Cas puts on one of the shirts. "Dean, could you help me adjust the tag in the back?" Cas says and turns his back towards Dean. The white tag sticking up above the collar.

That bastard **_IS_ ** doing it on purpose! He has to be! Fucking _tease_! Yeah, he's aware of what Dean is thinking now. Dean's sure of it! What he's not sure of, is if Cas actually _is_ interested or just being the world's most evil tease because Dean can't act on it properly with his brother watching.

_Fucking bastard!_

Well, the prize goes to the brave! Think he can somehow win over Dean? Fuck him! Two can play that game! Discreetly of course. Ahem.

"Sure, Angel."

Dean puts Cas shirts in his lap, because you know, he's not dumb. He's about to tease Cas right back, he's already half hard and Sam is _right there_! He scoots closer, puts one hand gently on Cas shoulder and with the other one he strokes inside the collar with his middle- and forefinger. Flipping the tag back but also gently caressing between the top of the shoulder blades. The hairs on Cas' neck prickle.

Hah! I knew it! Gotcha, sucker!

"Let me just smooth out the wrinkles..." he says for Sam's benefit and runs his hand from the base of Cas' neck, down between the shoulder blades all along the dip of the spine and...

Yep! He felt that! No mistake, Cas' breath hitched and he shivered!

He feels like throwing his head back with and cackle victoriously. Think you can tease me, Angel? I'll tease right back! Don't mess with a Winchester! The downside is of course that Dean's no longer _half_ hard. He's straining against the zipper of his jeans! The man he's been plagued by fantasies about just gave a positive response to a deliberate sensual touch. He did not shy away from Dean's touch, if anything he leaned into it, if only just the slightest bit and that makes Dean's heart race and his spirit soar!

Cas turns toward Sam, stretches his arms out to the sides, palms out, presenting himself.

"What do you think?" he says with a big grin.

Sam grins back just as widely. "Looks great on you!"

"Thank you, Sam."

Then Cas’ whole demeanor changes to the determined, goal oriented no-nonsense posture he get's sometimes. His face and voice too. He uses the I-know-what-I-want, brook no argument, totally secure voice. That both brothers have heard but come to associate with _completely_ different things.

"I'm going to try on the other two too. Let's make this efficient. Dean, I'm going to enlist your help for the other shirts too. Position yourself cross-legged so that you're facing your brother. Sam, you sit right there. You're going to help me determine which one of these three shirts suits me best. Understood?"

"Okay, Cas," Sam humours him, leaning back in the armchair and sipping his beer, content that his part in this requires him to do absolutely nothing.

As Dean moves to obey, he sees what Cas is planning and anticipation tingles in his body.

Cas, you _sly_ bastard! You liked me touching you, huh? Coming back for more with no shame, in front of my brother!

Cas grabs the shirts and sits cross-legged too, scooting backwards towards Dean so they line up straight in front of Sam. Cas' back to Dean. At this angle, and this distance, Sam can't see what Dean does with his hands as long as he moves discretely, Cas’ body will hide it. Sure, Sam’s rather close, but not too close. And sure, Cas is sitting closer to Dean than normal decency would allow. But Cas _isn’t_ normal. Rules don’t apply to him. He’s weird and Sam knows it. So many times when Sam came home after hanging out with Cas he'd start recounting his day with "You won't believe what Cas did today!" So this is a challenge from Cas. A dare. In many ways, it’s the scenario from the restaurant all over again but on a family friendly level this time. The element of risk of being caught elevating the excitement Dean feels.

Of _course_ the bastard waits until he’s in place before he takes off his shirt again. Showing off those muscles shifting under his skin as he stretches his torso upward to pull off the shirt. Goddam! How could another man be so alluring?! Dean sure as Hell won't chicken out of this race! Not with Cas covering for him like this.

Dean doesn’t waste any time moving his fingers forward without moving his arms too much. He lets his fingers ghost over the bare skin just above the edge of Cas' jeans. Goosebumps erupt under his touch. He can’t hold back a grin.

_Hell_ yeah! Magic fingers, baby!

Cas starts talking about some nonsense shit with Sam. Dean’s free to smile all he wants because so are Sam and Cas. Dean keeps looking at Sam, feigning interest in the conversation as not to draw attention to what his hands are doing. He slides his fingers carefully upward along the spine in the small of Cas’ back. Not daring to go too high because that'd cause too much movement of his arms. When Cas pulls the next shirt over his head Dean’s rewarded with a full body shiver.

_Fuck_! How can something this simple be such a fucking turn on?! It’s like being 13 again, discovering girls for the first time!

Cas sits straight-backed which helps conceal what Dean does, so when Dean 'helps' smooth the wrinkles out he leans forward, angling his body out as if he’s just looking at Cas who’s currently speaking. That puts his elbow more centred behind Cas and enables him to snake one hand under the hem of the shirt, almost all the way between his shoulder blades without rucking up the shirt. How can Cas be so unaffected when speaking? He flares his hand as broad as it will go and smooths downward, using his other hand to smooth the fabric down above his inner hand. Then he feels Cas’ heartbeat through the palm of his inner hand.

Holy fuck! _Soo_ **not** unaffected! Angelboy has some serious self-discipline going there! What with the goosebumps that followed Dean's every touch and a heartbeat as rapid as Dean's own. But Dean only has to focus on covert movement, breathing calmly and keeping a straight face. Cas has to focus on all of that plus keeping up a conversation while holding back shivers and ignoring goosebumps.

Dean lets out a ragged breath, his cock twitching excitedly. The thought of Cas, always put together, always cool, struggling to _keep_ it together because Dean is just barely touching him, sends a wave of arousal through him. It has a chain effect. Cas catches Dean's ragged breath and the combination of it with the touch sends another full body shiver through Cas. Cas has to cover it up by faking a coughing fit.

Dean laughs and pats his back. Secretly grateful for the little break because he too needs to collect himself or he'll end up friggin humping the guy's back like a fucking dog in front of his brother the way the tension is building in him. "You okay there, buddy?" he asks with a smug grin.

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that," Cas answers, sending a glare over his shoulder at Dean before looking back at Sam. "Could you hand me my beer please?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam moves to hand Cas the beer from the table. Cas drinks two-thirds of the bottle in one go and then offers the remaining beer to Dean. Possibly to distract Dean for a moment to recover himself. Well, why not? Dean takes the bottle and empties it.

He feels bolder now that he knows he has an effect on Cas. In fact, Cas makes him feel bolder in general when he’s present. It’s when he _isn't_ present that Dean slips into fretting. But right now―for once―he feels like _he’s_ the one controlling the situation. He takes a look at his brother. Sam doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable or in any other way hinting at knowing what’s going on. Either his brother’s oblivious or has developed _really_ good acting skills the last hour! Dean puts the empty bottle away on the floor and sits centred behind Cas again. "Straighten up, wingboy! A little coughing doesn't get you off the hook. I still gotta fix the tag," he demands cockily. A low chuckle comes from Cas but he does as Dean says.

Dean doesn’t waste any time. He slides one hand under the hem of the shirt and begins to stroke Cas’ lower back, and with the other he strokes under the collar while flipping the tag like the last time.

"What do you think of this shirt, Sam?" Cas asks when Dean removes his hand from the collar.

"I think that's the one with the print that matches your personality the best." Sam grins.

Cas snorts in amusement. "You consider me a sociopath, do you? In that case - you sure know how to choose your friends."

"I'm collecting a set. Psychopath brother and sociopath best friend." Sam grins and Dean makes a token protest from behind Cas’ back.

Dean’s protesting words are cut short when Cas swiftly without warning pulls off the shirt then stretches his upper body, rolls his shoulders, first both, then one at a time. He twists his body in a different direction to stretch his midriff, rolls his head and massages his neck. Making every muscle shift and play underneath that smooth soft skin Dean's been dreaming about and finally got to touch, if only just a little bit. He's fucking tantalizing.

"I had to do that. I felt... stiff," Cas says and Dean suddenly realise he broke off mid-sentence to ogle Cas while talking to his brother! The _fucker_! Blood rushes to Dean's cheeks and they heat up. He throws a look at Sam, but right now it's impossible to tell if Sam saw it because he's reaching for a new beer on the table. Cas seems to sense Dean's embarrassment and sniggers. Asshole! Isn't Cas hard too? He's been sitting facing Sam all the time! Dean leans out a bit to look and sees that Cas had dropped both the other shirts he tried on in his lap, covering his own groin. Yeah. He's hard. _Dean_ did that to him. Fuck, that’s _soo_ hot!

Cas tugs the last shirt over his head and Dean decides to retaliate, emboldened by the fact that he has turned Cas on. He grabs the hem of the shirt on the sides and pulls down. 'Helping' Cas. Only his fingers are bent inwards and as he pulls down he strokes Cas' sides with the back of his fingers. Fucker actually twitches while goosebumps erupt all the way up to the nape of Cas' neck. A bit ticklish are you, Angel?

He wants to touch as much as possible before this ends and they're almost out of time. Fuck, he _needs_ to! Who knows if he's going to get another chance? Or be brave enough for that matter. He gets an idea. When Sam tells a story he can get very into it, gesturing and looking at his own hands while doing so when he describes certain things. Like fish.

"Hey, Sam! Have you told Cas about the monster by the falls?" he asks. The 'monster' was just a huge pike that Sam tried to catch for years, it grew every year and when Sam finally managed to catch it they had found another pike in its stomach - still alive. They ate both. If there ever was a story that would make Sam do a lot of gesturing while looking at and between his hands - that's the one. He'd vividly imagine the fish while telling the story and _please_ say he hadn't told Cas already!

"No! Wow, Cas, you shoulda seen it! There was this..." and Sam launches into a descriptive telling of his fishing adventure.

Okay. Okay. Here 'e goes. Man up and fucking do it!

Dean keeps an eye of Sam while he snakes both his hands in under Cas' shirt again by the small of his back. Heartbeat pounding in his ear and nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Cas' skin is warm and soft. He flares his hands and angles them outward, very much like butterfly wings, sliding his little fingers inside the hem of Cas' jeans. He strokes outward softly. When he curves his fingers around Cas' waist Cas' tenses up and does a sharp intake of breath. Dean freezes in panic.

_ShitShitShitShitShitShitShit_

But apparently, lady luck is shining for once, because Sam had been in the middle of showing how large the pike was so he interprets Cas' intake differently.

"I know, right?!! _Huge_!"

But this game has to end now, otherwise, he'll definitely get busted! It's hard to be discreet when desire is taking over. When he so desperately wants to lean forward and taste the skin on Cas neck. To tug Cas around and kiss him stupid. To lay him down and cover him with his body. To... FUCK!

" _Bathroom_ ," Dean chokes out and scrambles from the floor. He clutches Cas' shirts in front of himself like a friggin' lifeboat or Sam will see that he has an erection the size of the empire state building tenting his jeans! He flees the room without looking how the others react.

Once in the bathroom, he locks the door and frantically tugs at his belt and zipper to free his erection. Once it's freed he raises Cas' shirts to his nose, inhales deeply, immersing himself in Cas' scent. It takes _three fucking stokes_ and he's coming! Three!

Jesus! What is he doing?! Barely touching the guy, and he's ready to explode in his pants just because he managed to turn Cas on too? He's so screwed! If Sam saw or noticed anything he'd be so mortified he'd need to move to another country and never come back! This is sick. He can't do this, dammit! Why can't everything just go back to _normal_?! And yet... Cas is attracted to him too. He is. Maybe all those innuendo texts weren't just jokes. 

And Cas covers for him. He won't tell anybody. Right? He helps to keep Sam in the dark, doesn’t he? Fuck, this is complicated.

* * *

When Dean comes out of the bathroom after cleaning up, having a slight mental breakdown and taking a piss, Sam calls to him from the kitchen. He enters apprehensively.

"Could you help me carry the Absolut lemon vodka and shot glasses while I take the beers?"

_Phew!_

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," he says, slings Cas' shirts over his shoulders and gathers up the things Sam asked for, relief flooding through him.

As he turns towards the doorway to leave Sam's hand clamps down on his shoulder. "Dean."

Oh shit. _Oh shit_. Here we go. Busted.

He turns around and is met with Sam doing his empathic puppy dog face. "What, Sammy?"

"I... I just wanted to thank you."

_Thank_ him??? For what?!!

"For what?"

"For being nice to Cas. I was afraid you'd be an ass to him or freak out after you found out that... _you know_... But you didn't. And you helped him. Even if it did look like you had a minor freak out when he took his shirts off at first. You were nice. And I'm glad. It means a lot to me that you get along."

Dean wants to laugh outright from the giddy disbelieving relief coursing through him. Instead, he scoffs. "Dude! What kinda douchebag do you take me for?!"

"I didn't..."

"Yeah you did. And if I can live with _Balt_ groping my ass like a perv then I sure as Hell can live with havin' Cas around, okay?"

Sam laughs. "Balt did that?! When?"

Dean grins. "That day we were all here working on the house. He was fucking relentless. Flirting and being all handsy."

Sam sniggers. "Man, I wish I had seen that. Balt trying to get into the pants of the straightest man in twin towns! Hilarious!"

Dean grins back at Sam as they walk to the living room.

You really have _no clue_ , now do you, little brother?

Both of them stop in the doorway and look at Cas. He has folded the shirts and is now sitting on the floor with the small present in his hand, inspecting it with deep concentration. Shaking it and listening to the sound trying to figure out what it is. Dean's chest goes all warm and gooey, his grin melting to a soft smile. A quick glance to Sam reveals Sam looking at Cas with amused affection.

"I think you were right about his childhood," Sam whispers before stepping into the room.

* * *

**LOOKING AT MY BROTHER**

* * *

Cas laughs, delighted when he opens the pack of weird jelly beans. He has to try one immediately. Picking out a black one and popping it in his mouth. Dean’s back on the floor with Cas again, staring at him with anticipation as Cas begin to chew. Cas whole face scrunches up in a grimace.

"Eeew! This is disgusting!"

Both brothers laugh. Cas doesn't spit it out. Instead, he digs up a new black and pops it in his mouth, causing another grimace.

"What taste is this supposed to be?" he asks with a faintly disgusted expression.

"The black ones are either liquorice or skunk spray," Dean answers him.

"Well this isn't bloody liquorice, that's for sure!" Cas says and that sets the brother off laughing again.

Cas goes on picking out the black ones and eating them which tells a lot about his personality really. By the fifth one, he doesn't grimace.

"You got a liquorice this time?" Sam asks.

"Nope. Apparently, skunk spray is an acquired taste," Cas answers drily making them all laugh.

Sam promptly deflects any attempts to get him to taste. Candy isn't his thing to begin with, and with the risk of it tasting horrible? No thank you!

Dean has no such qualms. He, however, spits out anything he thinks is disgusting, making funny faces that have Sam cracking up and Cas giggling.

His big brother is trying really hard to make this a good birthday party for Cas. Sam can see that. Dean always says Cas is weird, and he is. It's like he learned about rules for interaction with other people from a book, rather than actually understanding them from the inside out. He _knows_ how you're supposed to act. He knows that, because Sam has seen him on his best behaviour, being polite, correct and courteous. But it's like he knows the theory and doesn't understand why, and therefore forgets all about it while being himself. When you ask him something he doesn't want to answer he doesn't. He's just quiet. No excuses or explanations. If he gets bored he can wander off in the middle of a conversation. And boundaries? None.

Take food for an instance. Sam had a piece of toast in his mouth to free both his hands one morning when Cas had stayed over. Cas came wandering into the kitchen, snatched the toast from Sam's mouth, took a bite, and more or less shoved it back in Sam's mouth grumbling about the horrid choice of topping, before turning his attention to the coffee maker like that was a natural thing to do. If Cas gets tired when watching TV, he will suddenly lean in and basically fluff Sam's shoulder like it’s a pillow before he rests his head on it. All of this should be very annoying and feel uncomfortable, but it doesn't. Cas cares jack shit about keeping boundaries and is just as unbothered by other people keeping them. Or at least Sam. Possibly Dean too. Sam feels totally relaxed and comfortable to be himself with Cas. Simple things, like farts for an instance. Sam can let one loud, stinky one go with Cas sitting beside him. Even if Cas is eating he doesn't even bat an eyelash. (Which really should be odd because Cas can be extremely sensitive about how things or people smell.) You can tease and taunt or be rude to Cas and he will forgive you almost instantly. Not one for holding a grudge. Which is good considering how many times Sam pranked him during the renovation.

Dean’s obviously struggling with Cas lack of boundaries. Sam’s seen it. How often Dean gets tense, awkward, and flustered around Cas. It's hilarious! But Sam is very happy that his brother is trying so hard to accept Cas’ weirdness, since they both mean so much to him. Especially since they hated each other from the beginning. Now they're getting along, even maybe becoming friends? Dean’s still struggling with the boundary thing and right now is a perfect example of that. The scene playing out in front of Sam's eyes is too funny not to laugh at.

Dean had put a white jelly bean in his mouth and spit it out. "Fuck! Baby wipes! Gross! I was hoping I'd get coconut."

"You like the coconut ones, Dean?" Cas asks.

"Yeah. One of my favourites. But if I shove any more of those fucking baby wipe ones in my mouth, it might spoil it for me."

Cas starts digging out all the whites and pops one in his mouth.

"I agree. Baby wipe is not a pleasant taste," he concludes and puts another white one in his mouth. He bites down and instantly digs the jelly bean out of his mouth, reaches out his arm and pops the jelly bean into Dean's mouth with his wet fingers. Simply saying "Coconut," before going back to trying other white ones.

Dean’s face goes the shade of friggin' tomatoes and darts a panicked look at Sam. Sam bursts out laughing at Dean's discomfort. Dean looks about to say something but, oops! There goes Cas again, pushing another coconut bean into his mouth with two fingers, promptly silencing him. Sam thinks he might die laughing when Dean goes one shade darker red and sends Sam a ' _Shut up, bitch_!' look.

"Congratulations, Dean! You've got yourself your very own food taster to prevent poisoning!" Sam sniggers.

Cas looks very pleased. "Yes, Sam. I want to give your brother pleasant experiences," he says.

Dean sends Cas a murderous glare and leans back from the next bean he offers. Cas frowns and goes bossy.

"Dean. Don't be bothersome. Eat your bean," he demands.

Which sets Sam off laughing again. Sadly he's laughing so hard he totally misses Dean's reaction to that or what happens next. By the time he gets his wits back in order Cas is out of white ones and Dean is chewing. So Cas probably won. No wonder there. When Cas gets bossy you obey whether you want to or not. Like Cas said about the candles; ' _If I want something, I'll get it.'_

Sam’s actually kinda proud of Dean. Just the fact that he didn't spit out the beans, despite them being in the other man's mouth first, is a wonder. Maybe he's trying to overcompensate for freaking out about Cas’ fluid sexual preferences?

To add to Cas’ list of weirdness, he establishes that his favourite is the green one that tastes like lawn clippings.

Then he gets to open the big gift containing the Lego. Both brothers look on with anticipation and Gods be damned if Dean's prediction wasn't totally spot on!

Cas lights up like the Griswold family's Christmas lights. Practically shining like a sun. Funny thing is, so does Dean when watching Cas. And as Cas opens the box - it's one of those huge starter set boxes with about a million pieces in different colours and shapes - and pours all the pieces on the floor, (thank God they chose to have the party here!) Dean starts rummaging amongst the pieces alongside Cas. It hits Sam that Dean hasn't had a childhood either. Sam has, Dean made sure of it, dad too. But Dean had taken care of him and Dad, for as long as Sam could remember. Dad trained him to be a soldier, rather than play ball with him or do other child-related stuff when he was well. No wonder Dean reads Cas' needs so well. He probably saw a soulmate.

The two of them are sitting on the floor sorting through Lego, giggling and discussing what they are going to build. It’s like watching two kids on a playdate. Sam’s so friggin happy right now he doesn’t have words to express how he feels! Talk about a family moment! He grabs the vodka and the shot glasses and slips down on the floor beside Dean and Cas.

"Alright, guys! What are we building?" He smiles and pours the shots.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are food for the soul. I'm hungry. ;)


	28. Captain...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, buckle up for some Samfier! *mad cackle* I did not see this coming! *even more maniacal cackle*
> 
> Sam knocks on the door of the Garrison. 
> 
> This chapter and the next is dedicated to all of my readers! (Once again originally planned to be one chapter but had to be divided not to become too long.) Thank you so much reading. And thank you for your comments. They inspire me and fuels my own dedication to keep working on this fic. They brighten my day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> \- Mentions of past... well, something.
> 
> Some things may be misinterpreted but will clear up in the future.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!**

* * *

Sam takes the steps up on the Garrison porch and rings the bell. He has to wait a while, but then the door finally opens and―  
Like a tick, he tenses up and throws glance all around to watch if Dean’s close, although he already knows he isn't.  
― Lucifer stands in the doorway, eyeing him possessively with a hint of a smile.

"Sammy. What a pleasant surprise."

"Hi. I came to pick up Castiel?" Sam says uncertainly.

"There was a delay at the doctor's office. He'll be here shortly. Come in." Lucifer takes a step back and to the side, leaving space for Sam to enter.

Sam swallows nervously. The dimly lit hallway might as well have been a dark hole to the fires of Hell. He hasn't been inside the Garrison since _it_ happened, almost three years ago. Last time he was here it was not by free will. He hovers, silence stretches, each second is too long. Ghost memories of rope burns around his wrist, choking around a gag. There's a strong urge to flee.

He steps inside.

Lucifer smiles and closes the door behind him. The click of the lock is faint but seems unnaturally loud in the silence that follows. Lucifer studies him from under heavy lids, he can't read his gaze. He rarely could.

"It's.. um. It's very quiet here," Sam says.

"Most of the team has yet to return from their Christmas celebrations. Currently, nobody is home. It's just you and me."

Relief and apprehension. He hasn't been completely alone with Lucifer for almost two years, and that was still in a public area, people could come at any time. Not so here, now.

When Sam doesn't answer Lucifer purses his lips and turns to the staircase. As he starts walking up the stairs he speaks. "Come. Castiel's room is the one opposite the common room."

Sam follows him up the stairs. On the first landing, Lucifer speaks again.

"Castiel will not mind you being in his room unsupervised. He will come to me first to report what the doctor said. I will inform him that you are here," he says and points in the direction of the corridor. Then he leaves Sam and starts walking up the next set of stairs, almost at the top he turns and meet Sam's eyes. "Or you can wait in my apartment." He turns around, takes the last steps and is gone from view.

Memories trigger fear or the other way around. He can wait safely in Cas' room. Secretly explore his friend's room where no demons from past years will torture him. A neutral area where he's never been. There is no hesitation in the choice.

He goes to follow Lucifer.

Outside the loft apartment, he wavers. Uncertain. Stands with his hand on the door handle. Again with the ghosts of rope burns and gag. He opens the door and steps in. The room has changed. The image of the room he remembers and what currently is, superimpose temporarily.

Lucifer is sitting on a couch where a table used to be. He is drinking a beer. Another one is already opened and sitting on the corner of the coffee table. There are many seats to choose from, another couch opposite the one Lucifer is sitting on, multiple armchairs. Lucifer is smiling. Pleased to see him, but not surprised.

"Castiel has his own key to this apartment," he says. It's not a statement, it's a choice given.

Sam locks the door.

Sam takes a couple of steps into the living room area this has become, and stops, looking around. Warmly lit by concealed sources, soft creamy colours, books, throw pillows, blankets in warm colours neatly folded over backrests of the armchairs. The hooks in the ceiling are gone, the holes where they sat covered up. There are no strange contraptions - so-called 'training equipment' left. No hooks on the walls, no stainless steel and easy to wash off furniture. No longer decorated in rich corn blue, vivid reds, bright orange and golden yellows. Phantom pain shoots through Sam's body and sends his heart racing before the memory fades.

"Wow. This place has changed," he concludes in wonder.

" _I_ live here now." Lucifer smiles, but his eyes harden.

"I like what you've done with the place!" Sam grins, causing an amused snort from Lucifer.

"I can imagine you do," he says dryly and takes a sip of his beer. "Please, have a seat."

Lucifer doesn't make any indicating gestures. He doesn't force. This too is a choice Sam is free to make. Sam picks up the beer on the corner of the coffee table and goes around it. Sits down on the seat closest to Lucifer on the couch, not close enough to touch, but he imagines they are. He takes several deep swallows of the offered beer. Lucifer looks at him, face turned serene, eyes filled with affection.

Sam swallows. He doesn't look at Lucifer. "This... This may sound strange, considering the circumstances, but..." he says hesitantly. "...I've. I've missed you."

Words of a past betrayal echoes in his mind. _'No! That's enough! He is **mine!** '_.

Lucifer reaches out a hand and caresses Sam's cheek. He tenses up. The touch familiar. Welcome. But once again mingled with phantom pains. He closes his eyes, focuses on the loving touch. Minutely leaning into it. The hand smooths his hair.

"I've missed you too, Sam. You look well."

He doesn't know what this thing between them is. Maybe the Stockholm syndrome? He doesn't think so. That first look was like a magnetic pull between them. The connection instant, as with Castiel. But very different. The corruption came later. Forced by other people. Michael, Dean, nameless strangers.

Sam smiles. "I _am_ well. Happy. Happier than I've been in years." He opens his eyes and looks at Lucifer. Takes a deep breath. "Can... Can I―?" Lucifer understands the implied question. His arm falls open. Shoulder offered up. Sam leans in, puts his head on it. Lucifer's arm comes around his shoulder, holds him firmly, the other hand keeps softly stroking his cheek and hair. Calloused but gentle. More memories flash in his mind. Same arms locking him down, preventing escape. Hands like vices. Only the voice gentle and soothing, hushing him. ' _Shhh. It'll be over soon. Just hold on a little while longer._ ' He remembers the day he dared open his eyes and look up. Seeing his physical pain reflected in Lucifer's eyes. Realising that what was done to him, hurt Lucifer too. After that he always kept his eyes locked with Lucifer's. Maybe that's what led up to the betrayal.

"I'm glad you're happy, Sam. I want you to be. Share it with me, Sammy."

Those hands, knowing what they could do, would do without hesitation or remorse. Yet for Sam, they had been a blessing. Comforting and caring. Patching him up afterwards, nursing his wounds. Arms rocking him gently if needed. Never asking for anything in return. The caresses and embrace were not brotherly, nor sexual in nature. Sam has no fixed definition. Proprietary, revering, adoring, safe, a minefield of danger.

Sam smiles. "It's a lot of things that make me happy right now. Cas coming into my life, becoming my best friend for one."

"He's a real ray of sunshine our Cassie, isn't he? Especially in the mornings," Lucifer says with dry amusement. Sam has to laugh at that. Cas is horrible when just woken up.

"Indeed. Dean staying home a lot more, drinking less, is another thing. The two of them finally starting to get along. It feels like family. Like families are _supposed_ to be. Pointless bickering and silly laughter. Not fear and worry. Although I do worry something will go wrong and they'll start hating each other again."

Lucifer chuckles.

"Without betraying Cassie's confidence in me I can say that you can put that particular worry to rest."

"Cas talks about Dean?" Sam's interest piqued.

"Yes."

"What does he say?"

Lucifer sighs.

"Sam. Like I've said before. I will never lie to you. But you're asking me to betray the trust of my little brother and your best friend. Are you absolutely certain that is what you want? If it is I will answer you."

Sam really wants to know. But Lucifer is right, not like that. That’s not only asking Lucifer to betray a trust. It would betray Cas' trust in himself too.

"No, no. You're right. That would be wrong."

Lucifer's phone beeps and he digs it out of his pocket. From his position, resting his head on Lucifer's shoulder, Sam can see the screen as easily as Lucifer. It's an email from the hospital.

"What's that?"

"Cassie's doctor's journal. Including the notes about today's visit," Lucifer says as he skims through the latest additions to the journal.

"They're allowed to do that? Just hand journals out?" Sam asks incredulously.

Lucifer scoffs. "Of course not. Don't be stupid, Sam. I have means to find out what I want to know. Cassie will be thrilled, though. Seems I can allow him to participate in lighter practice again. He heals very well." He puts away the phone and reaches for his beer instead, taking a long draw.

The reminder of Lucifer's real power superimpose images of this room in the past again. Echoing words spoken in vehemence here. ' _First you disobey Otac! And now you betray_ **me** _?! For this... This insignificant mudmonkey?! You reach far above your station! How can you be so vain to think you have the right to choose your own destiny over the will of the Porodica?!_ ' Lucifer almost died for him that day. Might have, if he was a lesser man. Sam turns his head and burrows it in against Lucifer's chest, overcome with gratefulness. "Now that it's over, why can't I tell Dean?" he asks. Lucifer understands what he's talking about despite the rapid change of topic. He puts down his beer again and starts combing through Sam's hair, nails scraping the scalp. That kind of touch is new.

"It isn't over, Sammy. It might not be for a long time. As for telling Dean... I'm not blameless in what happened to you. Dean has a hot temper and a tendency to act before thinking. Should he act upon my involvement, it would alert the others that they were exposed. Neither he nor you would live long after that, and I would not be able to protect you anymore. You are your brother's greatest weakness. Should he find out what went on under his nose, that he misinterpreted what he saw so wrongly and thereby failed to keep you safe - it would destroy him. So why would you want to tell him now?"

Sam pulls a pained expression and exhales in frustration. "Yeah, but if he knew what you did to help me maybe he'd stop hating you and we could hang out the four of us!"

The hand on his head stops moving.

"Is that what you want, Sam?"

"Yeah. I mean, I like you! Despite all that shit that went down. And Cas likes you. And I'm tired of having to guard my every move around you in case Dean should spot us. And it sucked that Cas wouldn't come celebrate Christmas with us at Bobby's because he'd promised you and Balt to spend it with you and Dean couldn't stand the thought of you joining us too! Cas shouldn't feel the need to choose between us all the time!" Sam finishes his rant with a frustrated hiss.

"In that case, I shall make it happen without you needing to tell Dean. All you needed to do was ask," Lucifer says. He sounds pleased. "There is one thing I want you to understand though." He moves his hand, puts a finger under Sam's chin and tilts it upward so their eyes lock. Lucifer's icy blue are grave, his voice calm.

"What was done to you, and acts even worse... it was not only expected from us, it was required. I have never enjoyed it unless it was justified. _But_ ―and this is what I need you to comprehend―I have never been bothered by it either. Nothing I've done prior to meeting you eats on my conscience. You are special to me. You are the exception that broke me from the rules. There are very few people I care deeply for. The rest..." The corners of his lips tug downward, eyebrows raise and he shrugs in an unconcerned gesture. "I take care of those whom I care about and those who belong to me. My team, Cassie... ―" He lets the silence linger, in it a past sentence once again rings in Sam's head. ' _No! That's enough! He is **mine**!_ ' Sam's mouth is dry. He swallows. To Lucifer, it signals he understood. "The point is, Sammy. There is a good reason for you not to want me around. I can still protect you from afar as I have been doing. So I ask you again, do you still want me to 'hang out' with you?"

Sam swallows again. Heartbeat pounding in his ears. This is where he should say no. Lucifer is a very dangerous man. He _knows_ that already, better than anybody in twin towns, but this admission implies much worse things. Stakes raised higher. Lucifer isn’t forcing Sam. He's asking for consent for something easily taken without it. No blame will be put on his shoulders when he changes his mind and declines.

"Yes."

Lucifer smiles and lets go of his chin. Sam dives for his beer. Sitting up straight he drinks to sate the dryness in his mouth. He should feel scared. 

He feels elated.

The sound of a key in the lock signals Cas’ arrival. He looks sullen. Then he spots Sam and Lucifer on the couch and his face splits in a grin.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a writing style that differs from the usual. I had to write it that way not to give up the whole goddam plot for Samifer. I'm sure you'll survive. ^^
> 
> You can't believe how tempting it was to write in;  
> "You need my consent?"  
> "Of course. I'm an Angel."  
> That would have been waaay too cheesy though. *huge silly grin*
> 
> So this may be a little confusing maybe but all will come together in time. :)


	29. ...Cocktease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is in a sharing mood. Sam, Dean, and Cas go out partying before the season start.
> 
> This chapter and the one previous is dedicated to all of my readers! (Once again originally planned to be one chapter but had to be divided not to become too long.) Thank you so much reading. And thank you for your comments. They inspire me and fuels my own dedication to keeping working on this fic. They brighten my day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally made up by the last one as well as this. Plus parts of the next to come. It would have been too long so here 'e goes. Sorry you had to wait so long for this update but I had a couple of scenes from the past suddenly flashing which helped me figure out how to present some of the hidden plot lines so I had to write them down.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Dean/Cas/Other (Mildly - more Dean/Cas and less Other compared to the restaurant scene.)  
> \- Cockney in writing. O.o Lawd above!
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**AN INVITATION**

* * *

_Incoming text...._

 

 **To Sam Winchester; Dean Winchester**   
**Cas 18:43 PM:** _No matter how much I itch to get back on the ice again it irks me that the break is almost over and that our game schedules do not match up very well for the upcoming month and a half. We are flying out early the day after tomorrow. Any of you gentlemen up for going to the city tonight and party yourselves into oblivion to mourn the impending loss of my exquisite company?_

**To Sammy; Cas**   
**Dean Winchester 18:45 PM:** _Geez Angel. You could've said that in 3 words. "Let's get drunk!" And Hell yeah! Winchester party patrol to the rescue!_

**To Cas; Dean**   
**Sam Winchester 18:46 PM:** _Of course Cas. Someone has to go along and photo-document all the stupid shit Dean does when he's drunk. ;)_

**To Sam Winchester; Dean Winchester**   
**Cas 18:47 PM:** _Excellent! How soon can you be ready to go? Dress in comfortable and thin clothes. Where we're going it's going to be hot._

**Dean Winchester 18:48 PM:** _I'm already hot and you know it Angel! ;)_

**Cas 18:49 PM:** _I'm referring to actual body temperature Dean, not how you make other people feel._

**To Sammy; Cas**   
**Dean Winchester 18:49 PM:** _I'm good to go. Sammy however will need at least an hour to put his makeup on and fret over which dress to wear!_

**To Cas; Dean**   
**Sam Winchester 18:51 PM:** _Ha ha. Very funny, jerk!_   
_I'm on my way back from Ellen. Helped her fix a broken cupboard. I'll drop by the Garrison to pick you up? We'll need to stop by at home so I can change clothes._

**To Sam Winchester; Dean Winchester**   
**Cas 18:52 PM:** _Sounds like a plan. I'm ready to go. And that was a bit funny Sam._

**Dean Winchester 18:52 PM:** _You think I'm hot Angel? Or were you talking about other people?_

**Cas 18:53 PM:** _Yes._

**Dean Winchester 18:54 PM:** _Aww Come ON!! You always pull this shit! Yes to what Angel???_

**Cas 18:55 PM:** _And yet you keep making the same mistake. I think I've overestimated how bright you are._   
**Cas 18:56 PM:** _Plus your memory seems to be quite lacking in capacity too. I distinctly remember telling you that fishing for compliments from me is beneath you when we were at the restaurant._

**Dean Winchester 18:57 PM:** _Have anyone ever told you you're a douchebag?! >:(_   
**Dean Winchester 18:58 PM:** _And I distinctly remember you telling me other things at the restaurant! ;)_

**Cas 18:59 PM:** _There you go, adding to the list of testaments of your bad memory by asking questions you already know the answer to, as you yourself have called me a douchebag on several occasions. You know, you can't get through life on looks alone, Winchester._

**Dean Winchester 19:00 PM:** _It has worked out well this far!_   
**Dean Winchester 19:00 PM:** _Wait, that might have come out wrong..._

**Cas 19:01 PM:** _And what do you remember me telling you at the restaurant? Anything particular you had in mind, hm? I'll give you fair warning. Your brother has picked me up now and is wondering what we're texting about. I promised I'd read the next one out loud._   
**Cas 19:02 PM:** _Don't sweat it. For somebody like you, looks will take you far..._

**Dean Winchester 19:02 PM:** _FFS Cas! Tell that nosy bitch we're discussing favourite colour Xmas tree decorations or something!_

**Cas 19:04 PM:** _Are we? If so I can tell you that blue balls are not my favourite and yet I was stuck with a case of those adorning my 'tree' this Christmas._

**Dean Winchester 19:05 PM:** _I bet you gave yourself a hand getting rid of those! ;)_

**Cas 19:05 PM:** _I never do._

**Dean Winchester 19:06 PM:** _You NEVER jerk off?!!_

**Sammy 19:08 PM:** _Dude!! Why are you asking Cas if he jerks off?!? Gross! And how did you even get on that subject from Xmas stuff???_

**Dean Winchester 19:10 PM:** _Cas you fucker!! You read that one out loud! You said you were gonna read the next one out loud, not all of them! And tell Sam not to text while driving!!!!!_

**Cas 19:12 PM:** _If I truly was a 'fucker' I would not have been stuck with blue balls._   
_I was going to read out only one text, but that one was too good to pass up on as masturbation seems to be a sensitive subject for your brother for some peculiar reason. And FYI I was holding the wheel while he wrote. We're parking the car now. See you soon._

* * *

Crap! He’s so screwed it’s not even funny! 

He hadn't seen Cas for a few days and ended up missing him to the point of distraction. Sam had told him to stop being mopey. Mopey! He’s not being mopey, okay? Oh but then Sam had to go all _concerned_ , do the puppy eye thing and ask why he’s being, well, not- _mopey_. He can't exactly share, now can he? 

How the Hell did he manage to get so hung up on a guy to begin with? It had gone from bad to fucking catastrophic after the birthday party when he figured out Cas is attracted to him too. That Dean can do things to him to turn him on. Okay, so Dean doesn’t know if the guy just enjoys the teasing, wants to fuck him, or is interested in more. It doesn’t matter at the moment as Dean keeps having miniature freak outs about liking a _guy_. It had been easier to pine in silence and hope it'd go away when he still thought his Angel wasn.. _The_ Angel wasn't interested at all. Fuck! He has to stop thinking about Cas as ' _his_ '! 

Sam opens the door and comes in, immediately going off to his room to change and then Cas comes in after him. When Cas steps into the apartment it feels like fucking fireworks going off inside! Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn't want to be so hung up on Cas. He wants to fucking wrap himself around Cas and never let go, but he doesn't _want_ to want it, so once he’s face to face with the human equivalent of black holes (because they suck you in and once you are caught there is no escape) in the shape of Holy-Mother-of-God-Blue eyes he acts like a true Winchester. Which is to say - stupidly, defensive and like a total asshole. 

"Hello, Dean." 

"For fuck sake, flyboy! You're wearing _stretch jeans_? That's what 15 year old girls wear to show off their booty. What kind of man wears that shit?" he says with scornful amusement after giving Cas a once over. Twice. 

Because fuck! Guy can dress to his advantage when he wants to. Just as he had done when he turned himself to a jetsetter, only this time he'd gone for a bad boy kind of look. Black Bates police boots, black boot-cut jeans in stretch material making them cling to his thighs and ass. A slim-fit black leather biker jacket with a simple round collar hanging open over a pepper-and-salt grey T-shirt that isn't really tight, but in such soft and thin material that you can see the contours of his muscles and nipples. He wears a leather necklace with a silver pendant of some sort, and leather bracelets are peeking out from under the sleeves of his jacket, hair artfully mussed in a deliberate bedhead. And unlike his usual impassive unreadable demeanor he has an audacious, arrogant air about him tonight. A gleam of something dangerous in his eyes. Dean hasn't seen him like this before. Not really. It is like a combination of the madness from the joyride and the calm control of which he’d manhandled Dean with during the Lisa incident. He looks totally friggin' _hot_! 

And okay. Dean’s totally having bad boy fantasies going off in his brain right now and maybe he's over-interpreting how great Cas looks, just a bit. He's still his usual dorky self underneath all that, right? Dean's just expecting him to wear one of his nerdy tees with ordinary jeans and is probably just letting his imagination run wild, at the sight of his new style and a leather jacket. Because it isn't realistic to think Cas would just suddenly change into some perfect mix of James Dean, Colin Farrell and Clint Eastwood just like that, now is it? 

Fuck. 

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean's comment and saunters up to Dean, hands in his back pockets, and comes to a halt waay too close for comfort. Leaning in slightly, making Dean lean back and swallow. 

"A very. _Flexible_. Kind of man," Cas says. There is a sharp edge in his voice, a warning not to mess with him. 

Nope. Dean isn't just having an overactive imagination. There is definitely something off with wingboy tonight. 

Sam comes back from his room and Dean back-pedals from Cas as they’ve been standing too fucking close. 

"So, you had any particular place in mind tonight, Cas?" Sam asks smiling. 

"Yes," Cas says, the corners of his lips curving upwards slightly. He turns so he's facing both brothers. Scrutinizing them for a second before he goes on. "I have an itch I need to scratch. So I'm taking you to, shall we say - my natural habitat."

* * *

**FIRST A STOP TO BATTLE**

* * *

Once they get to the city Cas leads the way to an inconspicuous looking door in a run down part of the city. Once inside both Sam and Dean look around dubiously with bemused expressions. This is a hip hop club, loud music, graffiti on the walls, with mainly with afro american clientèle, so three white boys draw attention. Cas is totally unbothered by the stares as he makes his way to the bar. The brothers are hot on his heels, not so at ease with the semi-hostile eyes upon them. At the bar Cas orders a Smirnoff Ice for himself, two beers for the brothers and five shots of different taste vodkas each. He downs two of those shots without even waiting for the brothers to get settled and then lounges with his back against the bar, surveying the room. 

"This is your natural habitat? Underground hip hop clubs?" Sam asks incredulously before Dean has the chance to ask exactly the same thing. 

Cas smirks. 

"Both yes and no. This isn't the only stop we're going to make tonight. Underground is the key word here." He holds up his third shot of vodka, motioning for them to take this one with him. They do. The first one Dean gets is vanilla and is way too sweet for Dean's taste, so he takes the next right away. Lime, much better. 

Cas turns to them, his face getting more serious. "Look. Normally I would have gone alone. But our schedules don’t match up so we won't be seeing each other for longer than I care for. I found myself being surprisingly distraught by that, so that's why I invited you along. I did not feel like choosing. And I also want you to know me. I mean, really know me. I could tell you but I believe showing you will be more efficient. So if any of this gets to be too much for you I will not take offence if you choose to leave. You up for it?" 

"Hell yeah, Cas! Of course we are!" Sam grins enthusiastically, like Cas had just offered them a grand adventure. Maybe he has. Dean doesn't know what to make of it, but he sure as Hell won't back out. The man is a fucking enigma despite how familiar he's become. 

They talk for a while, Cas mostly chatting with the huge black (but friendly) bartender and watching the dance floor like a predator stalking prey, while continuing downing shots like they are miniature glasses of water. For all they seem to affect him - they might have been. Sam, who has the alcohol tolerance of a toddler, starts to greet everyone who come close enough happily. To Dean's surprise and relief the initial hostility dies down. He finds himself swept up in a conversation about cars with two men in way too big clothing and spectacular patterns braided into their hair along the scalp, when Cas suddenly removes his jacket and comes standing flush against Dean's back. He snakes one arm around, holding the jacket up to Dean while cupping Dean's ass with the other hand. Dean may have yelped. 

"Hold this for me. I'm hitting the floor," Cas says and is gone as soon as Dean takes a hold of the jacket. Nobody else, Sam included, seems to have taken note of, or cared about Cas little groping. 

After about five minutes there is a commotion on the dancefloor. 

"What's happening?" Sam asks, looking at Dean, breaking off his conversation with a sweet looking girl with a huge afro. The bartender answers in his stead. 

"Your boy just challenged B-Dawg for a battle." 

This makes both guys Dean's talking to turn their attention towards the dancefloor. Sam and Dean follows them when they make their way towards it. A big part of the floor has been cleared and people stand in a circle around it. Sam and Dean elbow their way to the front. Once they have a clear view Dean sucks in a breath. By battle the bartender meant a fucking BreakDance dance off! Cas is currently spinning on the floor, only one hand touching the ground at the time while his legs spin fast and wide as fucking helicopter rotor blades in the air. A decent enough reason to wear stretch jeans. 

"Son of a Bitch!" 

"Holy crap, Dean, you weren't kidding about Cas dancing skills!" Sam exclaims with an elated grin as he fishes his phone out of his pocket to film the display. 

Dean can only nod, struck dumb. This is a far cry from ballroom dancing yet Cas rules this floor just as well! Dean thinks he may be swooning a bit. Once Cas leaves space for his opponent to dance he catches Dean's eye and smirks. 

Shit. 

He probably looks just as awestruck as he feels. Dean snaps his mouth shut with a click and glowers at Cas, who simply winks and turns his attention back to the battle at hand. The other guy is good, but anything he does - Cas does it better. Cas has more creative moves, more grace, more power, more everything! The two of them keep switching each minute until it stands clear that Cas has won and B-Dawg has nothing on him. The man refuses to shake hands with Cas once they’re done. He just glares and then melts into the crowd. 

Cas makes his way over to the brothers, reaching for his jacket, which Dean gives to him without further prompting. Sam starts gushing as soon as Cas is close enough to hear his praise. While Dean feels exactly as impressed and excited (and aroused by) about Cas' performance, he also feels intimidated and doesn’t want Cas to see that. 

"Should you really be doin' that what with your leg?" he says instead. 

Cas scoffs. "Don't be a spoilsport, Dean. Mention my leg one more time tonight and I will call you Luci for the rest of the evening," he says with a frown that promptly turns into a smirk when Dean scowls. Then he looks at the both of them and continues talking. "Now. Are you in the mood for a fight?" 

"What? Like that?" Sam asks dubiously. Which is understandable since Sam's dancing skills are limited to the back and forth side stepping from the 80's. 

Cas rolls his eyes impatiently. "No. It seems that wanker didn't take utter and total humiliation graciously and is currently rounding up his crew. In case you feel like fighting we'll stay. Otherwise I suggest we make ourselves scarce." Cas shows no sign of wanting to bail, he just tilts his head a bit and waits. 

"Yeah well. If you'd just held back on your moves a bit―!" Dean starts to say but is cut off. 

"Who says I didn't?" Cas smirks. "There's nothing I can't do with my body, Dean." He reaches out and lodges two fingers inside the waistband of Dean's jeans, right above the zipper, and tugs gently twice while raising his eyebrow suggestively. "Or with somebody else's body for that matter..." he adds before removing his hand. Sam's eyes are blown wide in surprise - the implications not lost on him this time. Dean feels his cheeks heat up like a fucking furnace! All while butterflies explode in his stomach and his cock twitches, making it even worse. He stutters, momentarily at loss for words. 

This is apparently _the_ most funny thing that could ever happen according to Sam's drunk brain, because he totally loses it. He's guffawing his ass off which does nothing to alleviate Dean's embarrassment. And they need to get out of here before Sam figures out Dean isn't only embarrassed but _turned on_ by Cas' implications. Cas―being the asshole that he is―just watches him with a knowing smirk. 

"No fighting," Dean declares. Which is a shame really, because right now he really feels like slugging somebody and he's sure Sam would take amiss if he'd make Cas his target, even if that teasing fucker _deserves_ it. 

Cas almost looks disappointed. 

Once Sam has gathered his wits about him, they wave goodbye to the bartender and make their way out.

* * *

"Probably a wise decision," Cas states once they're outside. "These twats have a nasty habit of toting guns. I prefer the Irish. They have a pugilistic kind of honour. The brits in general do, if you handle them correctly." 

"You get into fights often?" Sam asks, still grinning broadly. The face his big brother made when Cas― _Oh, and that’s so_ unthinkable _and funny!_ ―made such a bold pass at him, was hilarious! Dean's mouth falling open, eyes wide and cheeks turning the most wonderful shade of cherry red. Sam almost falls into another fit of laughter just thinking about it. Seriously. What is Cas thinking, hitting on his brother like that?! Sam hopes he'll keep it up, just so he can see his big brother stutter and get all flustered again. 

They're walking down the street. Dean's walking a few steps behind them and Sam by Cas' side as he leads the way to an unknown destination. 

"It happens," Cas says noncommittally and then goes on in a fact-reciting tone. "The Italians will smile at your face and shoot you in the back. The Russians are a dangerous lot. They tend to have their history tattooed onto their body if they belong to the mob. The Balkan people in general are a jaded lot since the war. Cruel, but usually straight to the point and will respect anyone they consider their equals. You don't want to piss off anybody from the _Porodica_ , though, or―" 

Sam grabs Cas' arm and stops them dead. All mirth gone and heart beating rapidly, blood draining from his face. The words he'd heard directed at Lucifer once again ringing in his ears _'How can you be so vain to think you have the right to choose your own destiny over the will of the Porodica?!'_

"Woah! Wait a minute! What's the Porodica? What do you know about them?" Sam asks, probably sounding frantic, but he can't help it. 

Cas pins him with a scrutinizing stare and narrows his eyes. This is the first time Sam really understands what Dean means when he says Cas looks at him like he's picking his soul apart piece by piece and reading his mind while doing so. Instead of answering Sam he counters with a question of his own, there's a slight hint of concern in his voice. 

"Sam. Are you in trouble...?" he says, tilting his head. 

"No no! Of course not!" Sam refutes, laughing nervously and darting a glance at his brother who luckily has stopped a few paces away and is just waiting impatiently, rubbing his hands together to keep them from freezing, not paying them much attention. Sam looks back at Cas. "No I'm just curious. It is just something I heard someone say a long time ago. So. You know. Just wondering. That's all." Sam tries to sound nonchalant and does a dismissive gesture. It might have the opposite effect, judging by how Cas' eyes narrows a bit more and his gaze burns like fucking laser into the back of his skull. He remains silent for what seems like _aeons_ to Sam, but might have been mere seconds. 

"Yeahuh," Cas says in a tone that makes it clear that he doesn't believe Sam for a second. He doesn't challenge though. Instead he starts talking in a slow deliberate tone, studying Sam while he does so. "They are known for their cruelty. They like to 'play with their food' so to speak. And once you're on their radar you never get off it. Years may pass but they still keep tabs on you and may decide to drop in on a 'friendly' visit at any time..." 

"Yeah but who _are_ they?" Sam interrupts him. 

Cas is about to answer when Dean runs out of patience. 

" _For the love of God_! Will you start walking again?! I don't have enough alcohol in my blood to prevent it from freezing my ass off here!" He shouts and throws his arms out in exasperation. Sam actually jumps from the sudden outburst. Then Dean does something that, to Sam at least, proves his brother is definitely more drunk than he professes to be. 

Dean takes two strides up to them and basically plasters himself to Cas' back, grabs Cas’ hips and pulls him against his crotch, leans in so that his lips graze the shell of Cas' ear. "I need booze, Angel. So _fill me up_ , bad boy..." he says in a low husky voice. 

Sam thinks he might choke on his own tongue, either from shock or laughter. Cas' reaction though. As priceless as it is surprising! Cas' breath stutters, his lips part, his eyelids flutter and Sam could swear his pupils blew wide. 

"Of course, Dean. Anything you wish," he says and then takes off down the street in long determined strides. 

Sam stares at his brother wondering what the _Hell_ just happened, when Dean breaks out in an evil cackle looking smug as fuck. He winks at Sam. 

"Hey! Don't judge. If you've got it, you've got it. And I've got it aplenty! 'Sides, _he_ started it!" Dean says and starts sauntering after Cas. 

It finally tips the scale between shock and laughter and Sam finds himself cracking up for the second time tonight. Hilarious! 

It's great that Dean has finally accepted Cas' sexuality enough to be at ease with it. Cas’ reaction though... Could Cas have the hots for his big brother?? No. Sam would have noticed, wouldn't he? It must be the amount of alcohol Cas has imbibed so far, meddling with his brain. Even if Cas seems the most sober one amongst them he'd already drunk twice the shots they had. Balt seems to be right about the bottomless part. Sam kinda hopes it's just the alcohol. It'd be a shame if he really does have the hots for Dean. He'd be pining for someone he could never have. Oh well, whatever it is - if this is how they are going to act tonight then Sam isn't going to stop them. Let hilarity ensue!

* * *

**THEN A STOP TO BEFUDDLE**

* * *

"We should have taken a cab," Dean grouses from the back. "Where are we going anyway?" 

"Somewhere the hip-hop dogs won't find us. And if they do, they won't be welcome," Cas says and digs a small pack of Marlboro light out of his jacket pocket, tears off the plastic wrapping and throws it in the gutter without a care. He taps one out and lights it. 

"You smoke?" Sam asks baffled, walking beside him once again. 

"No." Cas gives him a look clearly stating that the question is stupid beyond belief. "You want one?" He holds up the pack in offering to Sam. 

Sam steps back holding his hands up, like he's just been offered a stick of poison. Heh. Well he _has_ , but you know. Funny anyway, with how horrified he looks. 

"No! Do you know what those things do to you?" 

Cas shrugs disinterestedly and puts the pack back in his pocket while they keep walking. Sam’s instantly back at his side launching into one of his long lectures about the dangers of smoking. Cas takes a couple of deep inhales of smoke, not at all bothered by Sam's preachings. He throws an arm around Sam's shoulders and puts the cigarette behind his back, filter held outward towards Dean. His cigarette hand twitches in a come-hither gesture. 

He doesn't mean what Dean thinks he means, does he? He can’t be that brazen, now can he? 

Cas makes the gesture again and when Dean hesitates he throws a look of impatience behind Sam's shoulder at Dean. 

He _does_ mean it, the little fucker! He wants Dean to smoke behind the back of his little brother while he himself receives a scolding for it. 

Cas takes another drag at the cigarette so it won't go out, and holds it behind his back again. This time, though, the look he throws at Dean over his shoulder is one of disappointment and disdain. 

_Hell_ no! 

What? He thinks Dean doesn't have the guts to do it?! Asshole. Of course he has! 

Dean steps in closer and takes the cigarette from Cas' hand, then falls back behind Sam, inhaling deeply. Fuck. Smoking is a good combination with drinking. He misses the days when he still smoked on a regular basis, openly in front of his brother. He quit when he was 20 as it doesn't combine well with being a pro-athlete. The few times Sam had caught him at it after that, he'd gotten too much shit about it to want to be caught at it again. The risks are of course reduced by the cold right now, as their breaths come out as puffs of smoke anyway, and he can always blame smelling of smoke on walking behind them while Cas smoked. Sam isn't going to smell his hands or kiss him, which would have shot any stupid excuses out of the sky. 

Cas looks back at him again just as Dean's about to exhale so Dean turns bold and blows a smoke ring. Cas’ eyes turns sharp and very pleased, sparking a deep satisfaction within Dean for some stupid reason. He _likes_ the way Cas looks at him like that! Like he's worth something. Like he'd done something very good, passed a test he was presumed to fail. Even if it’s just a minuscule covert rebellion against his brother. He walks closer and hands the cig back just in time before Sam throws a look behind him. 

"Tell him, Dean! You've quit. It's not that hard!" 

Cas' low chuckle makes Dean want to laugh. 

"Oh no, Sammy. I'm not going to lecture him okay? You've been at it for minutes already!" 

Sam bitchfaces him and looks ahead. Cas throws another glance at him, this time the spark in his eyes is a hungry one, no less pleased. He mouths the words ' _Good boy_ ' and FUCK! Why the _Hell_ is that such a big turn on?!

* * *

They’ve walked to a better part of the city and now they are inside a British pub. Dean really enjoys the atmosphere! They are sitting by the bar drinking Guinness and Jägermeister, Cas still chugging liquor twice the pace they do. One thing’s clear, Dean's never ever going to be able to drink Cas under the table! Not if they keep the same pace anyway. Sam is a lightweight. He's drunk as fuck by now. Reaching the goofy-grin-stage when he thinks everyone is nice and everything is funny. Dean's definitely tipsy. Cas might finally be a little looser around the edges, eyes a little glassy. But still sharper than anyone who'd imbibed those amounts of alcohol has the right to be! 

Cas leans into the brothers and says; "We might have been recognised. The man by the far side of this bar has been staring at us for a while, and now he's coming over. Just follow my lead." 

And then a man in his fifties comes to stand beside them. "Heya, fellas. Don't I know you from somewhere?" 

Cas grins and holds out a hand to the man. "Blimey! Oh no, I don't fnk so, Sir. I never forget a face! My name's Jimmy. Nuff said, yeah?" He shakes the man's hand. "And dis is me new friends Jared an' Jensen from da midwest." 

Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he shakes hands with the man. Cas has gone from smooth bad boy to cheeky cockney scoundrel in the blink of an eye. Had he not known Cas before he'd never pegged him as a local. 

"My name is Joe Callahan," the man introduces himself. "East London, Aye? Been here long?" 

"Gawdon Bennet! Not at all. This is me frd day 'ere. Got in a bi' ov trouble at 'ome an' decided ter 'ry me luck 'ere instead. Ran in ter deese guys at da airpawt an' decided ter tag along wiv 'em. Their uncle might 'ave a job open at da scrapyard where 'e works. Callahan yew say? _Thee_ wouldn't be related ter Mickey Callahan down in Cheapside? OK?" Cas has an enthusiastic, easy going air about him. Open and friendly, almost naive. Cas saying he’s lived by conning people makes so much more sense now. Somehow Dean finds it exciting. That at least meant Cas won't judge him for all the shit he's done, if he'll ever tell him. ....Or show him, considering that is what Cas has chosen to do. Maybe start out by taking him out to hustle pool or something. 

"I'm afraid not. What do you lads work with?" Callahan says and raises a hand to the bartender to signal another round for the four of them and to put it on his tab. 

"I handle the books at our uncle's scrapyard and Jensen here is a mechanic. What Jimmy does I have no clue about. We can't understand half of what he's saying but he's great fun to be around!" Sam says and grins. Cas laughs and claps Sam's shoulder good-naturedly. 

"Lawd above! Thank you," he says to Callahan holding up the new beer they've gotten. " _Thee_ know, I do a little bi' ov everything. This an' that. Whatever is needed, innit." 

The conversation goes on like that. They have a good time. Equally entertained by the topics discussed as by the show Cas puts up for them. Cas discusses soccer (which he insists on calling football) very enthusiastically for a while. Callahan ends up insisting to pay for three more rounds of beer and Jägermeister and when they go on their way he gives Cas his card, telling him that if he decides to stay in the city Callahan could help him with a job. If the man had suspected them to be the hockey stars from the nearby twin towns he has totally put those suspicions out of his mind by the time they went on their way. 

"Damn, Cas! You're friggin' awesome!" Sam slurs happily. 

"I know," Cas purrs, not one to downplay his own brilliance. 

"I swear, Cas, sometimes, hangin' with you is like being thrown into an alternate universe or somethin'!" Sam keeps on. Cas looks pleased with that. 

"Yeah, but _Jensen_? What kind of name is that!? Why did _I_ have to be Jensen!?" Dean whines. 

"Usually it's a Danish surname, meaning 'Son of Jens'. But you look a bit Nordic and I got creative. It suits your looks well enough." Cas smirks. 

Dean scoffs. 

"Why couldn't you get me a cool name? Or a simple one. Like Jimmy. Why'd _you_ get to be Jimmy?" 

Cas actually laughs at this. "Because it's really my name. I haven't gone by it for many years, by all means, but when I was younger the only ones who called me Castiel was my father and girlfriend. My birth name is James Castiel Collins." 

"Huh. Would you prefer if we called you Jimmy?" Dean asks dubiously. He doesn't like it. 

"No. I always preferred Castiel to James or Jimmy. It's more unique. Like me." He winks at the both of them with a cocky smile. They all crack up at his cheeky attitude, himself included. Finally Cas too is showing signs at being drunk. How the Hell he'd managed to keep the cockney-story and accent up, beats Dean totally. 

"Next stop - a den of iniquity where you don't have to pay the girls to get off! ...Or the boys for that matter," Cas declares and sets off.

* * *

**AT LAST A STOP TO BUMP**

* * *

The music is so loud it reverberates through the ground as well as their bodies. They are at a nightclub. The type that plays techno, trance and whatnot. The dance floor is packed with scantily clad people grinding up against each other and Dean can see what Cas had meant. Most of the people here seem to be here more for a chance to grind and paw at strangers, rather than to dance. There had been one hell of a queue outside but Cas had bypassed it, walked straight up to the bouncer, exchanged a couple of words and the three of them were let in without even having to pay an entrance fee. Sam had been waylaid almost immediately by a busty, curvaceous girl who'd dragged him straight out on the dance floor. Not that he minded. Sam had never been one to rule out the beauty of big girls and right now he looks downright happy about the girl pawing worshippingly at his chest, while he can't keep a good rhythm in his dance despite every beat being felt in the body. She doesn't mind his lack of dancing skills, content in bagging herself such a tall, well built moose. Dean stands looking in amusement for a while. Then he realises Cas is nowhere to be seen. He has a moment of jealous panic and gets mad at himself for having it. This is the first time he's in a dance club such as this, so he might as well dance! He doesn't need Cas to hold his hand and he doesn't want to think about the risk of Cas hooking up with someone that isn't... Well. Him. 

Dean makes his way out on the floor. Bumping into people everywhere. The lights keep shifting colour and occasionally shifting into white stroboscopic flashing, making people appear in fast freeze frame. He closes his eyes and begins to move with the rhythm, letting go of all his thoughts. 

It is hypnotic. 

It doesn't take long before he doesn't hear the music―he _is_ the music! People brush up against him, he doesn't bother opening his eyes at first, not caring if they are girls or men. It’s pleasant. Erotic. Entrancing. He's always wondered how people could listen to this kind of shit. In his opinion, the only possible use for it is when pounding pavement and he isn't that keen on running for the hell of it. But like this, it makes sense. One song blends into the next, time loses meaning. He's working up a sweat. His heart pounds with the insistent rhythm. 

He doesn't open his eyes until he feels someone slot their legs between his and grind insistently. It is a short haired girl. Cute. It doesn't matter. She too keeps her eyes closed, lost in the dance and friction. He grabs her hips, leans into her and closes his eyes again. Meeting her grind for grind and feeling his cock begin to swell with arousal. Suddenly there is another set of hands on his and he opens his eyes. His heart instantly speeds up. 

Cas is grinding up against the girl's back, kissing her neck which she's bared for him. But his focus isn't on her. His eyes are locked on Dean. Intense, hungry, clearly _aroused_! Fuck he's hot! His hair clings to the sweat on his forehead, his breath comes short and shallow, his pupils are blown wide. Those fucking butterflies explodes in Dean's stomach again at the sight and a wave of arousal courses through him, instantly taking him to full mast. He presses in closer, like he can somehow get through the girl and press up against Cas instead. If it wasn't for the fact that Sam’s dancing within such distance that he now and then becomes visible through the crowd, Dean would have, in his drunken, entranced state, thrown all caution over board and let go of the girl to do just that. 

When Cas sees him recognise him, his hands move. He slides them in between the girl and Dean and strokes upward along the girl's and Dean's body. He cups the girl's breast, lifting them up to level with Dean's chest, then he captures her nipples with the V between his index and middle finger at the same time as he pinches _Dean's_ nipples with the tips of the same fingers by squeezing them together. Dean and the girl moan in unison. Dean's hardly aware of the girl at all. Just the tingling sensation in his body caused by Cas pinching his sensitive nipples. Cas exhales harshly and bites his lip when Dean moans. 

Cas lets one hand wander downward, still pinching one nipple gently with the other. The hand strokes along his chest, down over the planes of his stomach, still further down. Then he's no longer rutting against the girl, but the backside of Cas' hand. 

Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! 

Just the thought that he's doing so makes his cock twitch in his jeans and heat begins to pool at the base of his spine. Somewhere deep in his brain, a tiny part of him is having a freak out about being this turned on by another man touching his cock, but another much bigger part of him wants more. _Needs_ more! Needs to touch Cas too. He moves his own hands, one sliding behind Cas, cupping one ass cheek and desperately pushing him closer. The other one he slides between the girl's back and Cas' stomach twisting it so the palm is facing Cas. Not a comfortable position for his wrist. He doesn’t care about that once he slides his hand lower and grips Cas through his jeans and Cas makes a sound between a groan and a whimper. He's fucking rock hard! Heat burns through his jeans to Dean's hand and Dean's head falls forward to rest against the girl's shoulder beside Cas' head. Their cheeks touch. Then Cas turns his head slightly, Dean doing the same. Their lips almost but not quite touching. Just breathing each other's ragged breaths. It is dizzying, heady. 

Cas moves his hand from the nipple to go around and grip Dean's ass. The girl between them began to whimper and spasm, gripping Dean's shoulder frantically. Dean suddenly realises that all the while Cas is pushing the back of his hand against Dean's cock, he's also massaging the girl's clitoris with his middle finger through her pants, flaring the other fingers out to to properly feel the outline of Dean. _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_!!! If this goes on much longer he will come in his pants like a friggin' 13 year old that has never been touched! That’s going to be so embarrassing! How will he ever be able to look Cas in the eye after that?!! Cas is rutting frantically in his hand now and.... 

" ― !" 

_Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!_ **Holy shit!**

He _feels_ Cas' cock spasm in his hand. He _feels_ hot moist pumping out, leaking through the fabric when Dean squeezes. He sees Cas' eyes go wide and glaze over, mouth falling open in a silent 'O'. Then when Dean continues squeezing, Cas jerks, closes his eyes and hisses between gritted teeth, making fucking fantastic noises with every squeeze. Cas coming is the _hottest thing_ **ever**!!! 

Dean's own orgasm takes him completely by surprise. The world is temporarily gone from awareness. In his mind there’s only a mix of pleasure and _CasCasCasCasCas_!! When he comes to his senses again the first thing he notices in the darkness and shifting coloured lights, is Sam looking in their direction from across the dance floor. 

 

**Fuck!**

 

Dean panics. Basically throwing himself away and heading for the toilets. Not even looking at Cas or the girl. He's lucky to find an empty toilet and quickly washes up as well as he can, before sitting down on the toilet lid, burying his head in his hands and promptly proceeds to have a small freak out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not extremely descriptive about the breakdance moves. I'll let you use your imagination for yourself. But I watched [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZ0lTO2EVYw ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZ0lTO2EVYw%20) a couple of times to get inspiration. These guys are awesome!
> 
> And as usual, comments is the currency I make my living with so would you please make a donation? ;)


	30. Swonkadoodled!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much alcohol muddles brains up for Sam, Dean, and Cas.
> 
> Bobby received a phone call 9 years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Special mentions to [BrieflyMaximumPrincess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BrieflyMaximumPrincess/pseuds/BrieflyMaximumPrincess) for giving me a valid translation of the French in the chapters. :D Thank you!
> 
> Oh, and. They are drunk. I did not all the sudden lose the ability to spell. ^^
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**WAITING TO EXHALE**

* * *

Cas sits by the bar. The music is loud here too, but not as bad as on the dance floor where Sam is making out hot and heavy with the beautiful buxom girl. Cas, however, is fretting. He might have pushed it too far. Dean hasn't come back yet since he fled the dance floor. The girl had almost tipped over by Dean's hasty retreat and had Cas hands not been where they were, she would have fallen as she'd clung to Dean after her orgasm. Well, Cas had caught her and stroked her to another one while whispering sweet words in her ear, praise meant for Dean but given to her to make up for her sudden abandonment by her chosen dance partner. She was nothing more than a shield to lend Dean the deniability Cas is sure he still needs, but once again it boils down to the fact that even if you used people, there’s no need for them to _feel_ used. Since Cas hadn't bothered to gauge if she's one of those types who liked being humiliated and used, he hadn't taken the risk. Making sure she would feel good about herself before he left her to clean himself up.

After that he settled by the bar to wait. He'd ordered ten shots of different vodka flavours and proceeded to take them one by one, letting time pass between each shot. He has six left. Fretting. Right. He isn't sure exactly what had caused Dean to run. He had come, opened his eyes and then legged it like his life depended upon it.

Everything went smoothly at first. He'd waited until Dean went to dance by himself. Waited until somebody randomly had partnered up with him and then made his move once his 'shield' was in place. He'd made sure his touches of Dean could be conceived as him touching the girl by any audience. It was when Dean made the careless move to touch him indiscreetly Cas lost it. Dean is so responsive to manipulation and very easy to predict (apparently much harder to predict when large quantities of alcohol are involved), the problem is that Cas is soo affected by Dean and everything he does, that he's constantly on the verge of losing his own self control, and with it control over his surroundings and Dean. The scent of Dean is intoxicating. The mere touch of him sent electric currents through Cas’ body, making his head spin. And Dean swung back and forth between bold bravery and panicked angst like a pendulum. That's why Cas shouldn't have let him grope him. He should only have let him copy Cas' movements, allowing them to touch each other covertly by using the girl as was the plan. He definitely shouldn't have almost kissed Dean, but it's a bloody wonder he had managed to stop himself!

Bugger!

When Dean came, much more unrestrained than on the restaurant, he'd whimpered out _"Angel―!_ "

That sent Cas' mind reeling. He's suspected that Dean sometimes used the word as a form of endearment. Sometimes his voice goes soft when he says it and Cas really likes it. It feels intimate and special despite it also being used as a term for his team affiliation. That was before. Now he knows with 100% surety that Dean uses the word in affection... He's so under Dean's thumb it's ridiculous. He just hopes Dean will never find out exactly how much power he holds over Cas, because then he'd be in trouble for sure!

Lord and all his blasted yellow minions!

Unless he's spoiled everything already.

Crap.

Could Dean just please show up so he can gauge the extent of the freak out? Please!

And another thing he'd forgotten to take into the equation... Sam had warned him about Dean getting too honest when he's swonkadoodled. And that he would forget all about what ever happened when he's at that stage. Which could have disastrous consequences if Cas doesn't play his cards right. Yes, he wants Dean, wants to be with him in every possible way. More than he's ever wanted anything before. But he wants Dean to be, if not sober, at least lucid enough to be able to make conscious choices he'd stand for the next day. Or the same night. So can that freckled incubus please _please_ show up!

Cas downs two more shots straight after another, fully aware that he's having a freak out of his own and he should really slow down the pace of his drinking because he's well and truly inebriated already and slipping into a bad headspace.

Somebody clears their throat behind him and Cas turns around, instantly flooded with relief. Dean stands behind him, eyeing him warily.

"Are you drunk?" is the first thing that pops out of Cas' mouth.

"Nah! Tipsy at best!" Dean answers reflexively with a lopsided smile, his eyes still wary, though.

"You care to let me help you remedy that?" Cas offers with a small smirk and one raised eyebrow. Indicating the four remaining shots with his hand. His insides are churning nervously, not matching his expression one bit. Dean throws a look at the six empty glasses upside down in front of Cas and grins.

"Yeah. Seems I'm getting behind. Order us a new round will ya? I'll finish these ones up while you do."

As Cas does exactly that, Dean sits on the stool beside him and downs the four shots in a row. He's still tense despite the grin. Cas doesn't dare even a casual touch. Fearing Dean will spook. Which he does the next moment when Sam all but falls over them, throwing one arm over each of their shoulders. Dean's eyes are widened in panic and he looks ready to bolt any second. A big, silly smile adorns Sam's face, cheeks ruddy, eyes glossy and slightly red rimmed. Sam's definitely the most drunk one of them.

"Heeey guys! Love you sooo much y'know!" he slurs happily. Sam then breaks down into a fit of giggles. "Mussa been one helluva girl, you guys! S'like a _thousan_ '" Sam makes an exaggerated gesture with one of his arms, "girls on that dance floor an' you guys juss hadda pick the same one!" Another fit of giggles but Dean seems to relax considerable at this.

"Yeah that's right, Sammy. That sure was one special girl," Dean says with a smile at his brother. "Isn't that right, Angel?" he adds with a wary look at Cas.

Cas holds back the urge to snort. What does he think? That Cas is going to out him in front of his brother?! Wait, that must have been it! Dean must have thought Sam had seen them and understood what was really going on, _that's_ why he's relaxing now that Sam focused on the girl! It's a testimony to how drunk Cas is that he hadn't figured it out the moment Dean made a run for it. Cas smiles warmly at Sam.

"Yes, Sam, it seems your brother and I both have exquisite taste in dance partners. There is simply no one else I wanted to rub myself against on that floor. Dean was kind enough to share the spoils of his catch with me. He could as easily have told me to go fuck myself."

For some reason that makes Sam laugh hysterically. Cas doesn’t see what’s so funny about what he said.

"You said _fuck_!" Sam wheezes while laughing.

"I fail to see how that is humorous, Sam."

Sam holds on to Dean to steady himself and points a finger at Cas, waving it up and down haphazardly to make a point. "You never sayed fuck, Cas. Y' swea alot sometime but never _fuck_ , okay?" Sam says seriously. Then he breaks out in a huge dimpled grin again. "Deen's been rubbing off on you!"

Dean's face drains of blood, panic in his eyes again and if Sam hadn't been all but draped over him for stability he'd have bolted again. Sam, happily oblivious of Dean's impending panic attack, blunders on.

"Soon y'll be sayin' fucking fuck in ev'ry sentnences!" Sam's head swivels towards Dean with a dopey look on his face and a soft smile. "Y'r being a bad influence 'n, Cas. Crruptin' 'im with bad languwich! S' okay. I love you sooo much!" And he enfolds Dean in a big drunken bear hug, rocking him. " _Sooo_ much, Deen!"

Cas can't help but to laugh. The multitude of expressions that pass on Dean's face. First the panic, then relief when he realised Sam didn't mean ‘ _rubbing off_ ' in a literal sense, then annoyance at Sam's sentimentality and at last acceptance and affection. Dean first tries to pat his brother gingerly on the back, then get's a 'what the hell' kind of look and hugs Sam back.

"Love you too, Sammy."

Sam breaks the hug finally. "So lissen.. Me'n Melissa.. Melody? Miranda?... Less call 'er Em! Me'n Em are gunna go an' have sum fun, okay? 'll be back inna hour or so. So don' go home widdout me, okay?"

"Of course not, Sam," Cas assures with a fond smile.

Cas follows Sam with his eyes when the giant lumbers off. He turns back to Dean once he's out of sight. Dean's whole posture has changed and now he's relaxed, studying Cas with a lopsided smile.

"Your brother is a very affectionate drunk."

"Yeah he is. Like a big fucking puppy dog waggin' his tail for everybody. The interesting question is - what kind of drunk are _you_?" Dean raises a challenging eyebrow. Motioning at the new row of shots the bartender has put up for them.

Cas feels a slight unease due to Dean's quick mood swings at the moment. His head is starting to get fuzzy and his general control is slipping. Dean’s always very primal and instinctual in his reactions and behaviour, this is one of the things he found enchanting about the man. But as drunk as they are now, it has boiled down to absolute basic instant reactions. Like him legging it from the dance floor. In face of that, Cas really should cling to the control over himself he still has. He _should_!

Bugger!

Except Dean is challenging him, asking him to let go. How can he deny such simple request when those green eyes bore into him? The answer is simple. He can't.

He raises one of the shot glasses and gives Dean a smile.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

* * *

**2005**

* * *

(Sam is 12, Dean 16)

The cell phone rings. Bobby reaches into the glove compartment and digs it out. Thankful for the distraction as traffic has come to a total standstill due to a major accident further up the interstate. He's cut the engine. Not one car has been able to move for the last 25 minutes. He checks the caller ID before he answers. Dean.

"Hey, son, how you're doing?"

"Bobby! Where are you man?! Y' gotta come quick! I dunno what to do!" The 16 year old sounds absolutely frantic. Bobby's first thought goes to John, that he's having some kind of episode again.

"I'm stuck in traffic on the interstate. What's happened?"

" _Shit! Shit! Shit_!" Dean broke off with a sob. "I dunno what to do, Bobby! They say he might not make it! I don't kn..." Dean's voice dissolves into crying.

Bobby's heart starts jackhammering in his chest. Dean never cries. Something really bad has happened.

"Calm down, son! Tell me what happened. Is Sam okay?"

"No. He's in surgery. They say he might not make it, Bobby! What will I do if he dies?! I can't lose him! I just _can't_! Shit!" Dean breaks off again sobbing loudly.

Bobby goes cold all over. Sam, only 12 years old, in surgery on the verge of dying? No wonder Dean’s so distressed. Sometimes it’s like the cocky teenager has only one purpose in life and that’s taking care of Sam. Everything the older boy does seems to be centred around the brother. He measures his own worth by how happy his little brother is. He's a troublemaker, smoking, drinking, getting into fights, fooling around with girls, but it all comes second to Sam. So if Sam dies Bobby’s sure he'll lose both boys. And he loves them like they are his own.

"Dean. Take a couple of deep breaths. Calm down and tell me what happened." He hears Dean stifle another sob and take a deep, shuddering breath, then another.

"He... uh. ...He was climbing a tree." Another deep shuddering breath. "He climbed too high, and. And. ...A branch broke beneath his foot. He fell. He hit too many branches on his way down an..." Sob. "...and knocked his head up pretty badly! They say that.. uh. There's a swelling around his brain. He's in surgery to relieve the pressure around his brain. They don't know if he's gonna make it, Bobby! They say he might not wake up! What am I going to _do_?!" Dean starts crying again. Sounding so small and fragile, like the little boy he never had been allowed to be. Bobby’s scared shitless about what might happen if the doctors come out and announce that Sam hasn't made it, while Dean’s alone.

" _Balls_! Listen to me, Dean. You shouldn't be alone right now. Go to Gabe and get him to go to the hospital with you. Then stay with him until I get there. You hear me, son?"

Dean takes a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. "Yeah, Bobby. I hear you. I'll go get Gabe." Dean's voice is more steady now. Almost calm, an eerie contrast to the desperate sorrow he'd just displayed.

"Good! I'll get there as soon as I'm able. Call me if there's any news."

"Yeah. ...yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Bobby."

"Take care, son. Talk to you later."

After the call has ended, Bobby is temporarily struck by the saddening thought that during the whole conversation, he hadn't for a minute thought about where John was or if he'd been informed that his youngest son is possibly dying in the hospital. The last couple of years his friend had changed beyond recognition. He'd disappear for days, weeks, at a time. And he drank more often than not. The cheerful, generous, and caring young man he'd gotten to know when he joined the Marines, had died a long time ago. Had Bobby not known him from before, he might have hated the guy today. Brain fried by fear and self-loathing that spilled over on the rest of the world, especially those closest to him.

Gabe has been a God's gift to the Winchester boys. He's managed to reach beyond Dean's hard walls and touch the soft core inside, in a way Bobby’s never managed. Given Dean a chance to be normal - bringing sport and music to his life, and with it a touch of self indulging happiness the boy deserves. Telling Dean to go to him had been more natural than to tell him to seek out his father.

For now, Bobby is stuck in traffic. Stomach churning with worry.

* * *

**YEAH. A BIT DRUNK...**

* * *

_Present day..._

 

Some time later Dean is focussing on building a pyramid of shot glasses turned upside down. Eyes intent and tongue sticking out between his lips in concentration. Cas is turned towards him and has an elbow on the bar, supporting his head with that hand while he watches Dean, dreamy smile on his lips. His vision is fuzzy, he feels warm and tingly inside, the world spins slightly if he moves his head too fast. His skin and tongue are a bit numb. It's not unpleasant. His mind has wandered off to their first.. (Okay. Maybe it had been a _date_ after all.)..date while he's watching Dean. He's currently thinking about the things he'd caught Dean lying about then.

"Y' don't think 'ts embarrassin'?" Dean asks suddenly without giving up his efforts to put the last glass on top without crashing the whole pyramid.

"Qu'est-ce que tu trouves de gênant?" Cas counters. They had talked about a lot of small topics. Sam, cars, hockey... Not anything that could be taken as embarrassing. Dean is obviously lost in his own thoughts just like Cas. Cas chose to ask Dean ' _What is it you find embarrassing?'_ in French to see if there’s any reaction, as he's sure Dean had lied about not knowing the language. Dean doesn’t even notice the switch.

"Comin' in your pants like a fuckin' untouched 13 year old?" Dean doesn’t look at him, but now his posture shows his focus has changed to listening to Cas' answer.

Oh.

Interesting that Dean dares to approach this subject in words.

"Pas du tout. Je pense que c'est une bonne chose," Cas says with a soft smile. ( _Not at all. I see it as a blessing_.)

This gets Dean's full attention. He scrunches up his face in confusion and turns towards Cas. " _Why_?" he asks disbelievingly.

"J'ai fait et vu tant de choses. C'est facile de devenir blasé. Être si affecté par si peu ça rend humble, c'est fascinant." ( _I've seen and done so much. It's easy to become jaded. To suddenly be so affected by so little, is humbling and exhilarating_.)

Dean's eyebrows rise in surprise. He looks down for a beat, mulling it over. "Huh. I've never thought about it that way..." Then Dean scrunches his face up again, this time with a deep frown. "Wait. Where you just speakin' French with me?"

"Oui," Cas answers him, his soft smile widening. ( _Yes_.) "You lied about not knowing the language at the restaurant. I saw your eye-movements. You were reading, not looking. Why'd you lie about that?"

Dean seems baffled for a beat, then he rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "I dunno. 'ts a defence I guess..." When Cas doesn't probe Dean looks back at him. He's quiet for a while before he goes on. "I've always been gettin' into trouble. Fights. Problems in school. Booze and girls. People think I'm just a good lookin' dumb jock. So I guess... I guess I just give 'em what they expect, you know?"

Cas nods. It makes sense. Especially with a very troubled home situation. Keep people looking at the surface so they don't see the turmoil within. "I never saw you as stupid, Dean. Infuriating, by all means. Beautiful beyond comparison. Untamed and passionate. Brilliant strategist, loving and generous to those you care about. Self-sacrificing and brave. But never dumb." Cas knows he's looking at Dean dreamily. Making 'heart-eyes' as Balt once said. It doesn't matter. If feels so good to just sit here and look at Dean. He's very content at the moment.

Dean looks dumbstruck by Cas' admission. Mouth hanging open slightly. He swallows. And swallows. Then he snorts and chuckles. "I guess we've figured out what kinda drunk you are, huh? You're the poetic philosopher type." He's grinning, making light of what Cas just said, but his voice sounds a bit shaken.

Dean orders two long island ice teas, bidding Cas to drink with him before he goes back to the topic he tried to brush of moments before. "You're wrong about one thing though, Angel... I'm not brave. I'm scared shitless most of the time."

"On the contrary, Dean. That's what makes you brave. You trust me, right?"

"Yeah. Of course," Dean says, perplexed.

"Yet the first time you answered that question with an affirmative and let me lead you into an unsafe situation, I had given you no reason to do so. We were supposedly still enemies and all you had to go on was that I was friends with your brother. This is just one of many examples of you throwing yourself into situations despite feeling trepidation, uncertainty, or fear. You are very brave. Not many do that."

Dean’s blushing furiously, making his freckles stand out. Cas knows he probably should shut up but his whole head is filled with Dean and he wants to say all those words he usually holds back.

"You're extraordinary, Dean. I cannot keep my mind off of you. Your strength, your beauty. You're so masculine yet sweet. You are perfect in my eyes. I'm powerless to resist you. You're a wildfire. All passion and glorious instinct. Sometimes you glow as a mere ember but you can flare up like a firestorm at any given moment. I want to be consumed by that fire. Ravaged by it. Yet I also want to control it. Have you at my command. You're such a good boy when you surrender yourself to my will. You always have a choice not to do what I ask of you. And still you choose to bend to my will. I adore and worship you. The mere touch of you excites me more than anything I've previously experienced...." Cas trails off.

Now there is a reason he shouldn't say those things. There is one. But what is it?

" _ **Jeezus Cas**_ **!** " Dean hisses. He's staring at Cas with intense burning eyes, pupils blown wide, teeth bared slightly like a predator ready to pounce. His breath is coming in short rapid burst, fists clenched white-knuckled on his legs. He looks ready to charge.

Cas world is too fuzzy for him to discern why that might be. But warning bells are going off in his head. He’s stepped over a line he shouldn't have. There is a reason...

He needs to clear his head.

"I need a smoke," he says and slips off the bar stool. The world tilts and his arm fly out to grab Dean's shoulder to steady himself. He feels Dean turn his head and press his cheek against his hand. Warm puffs of breath makes his skin tingle.

What is the reason this shouldn't happen?

He lets go of Dean's shoulder, instantly regretting the loss of touch but determined to make it outside despite the unsteadiness of his gait. He gets the jacket from the wardrobe and heads for the exit, shouldering his way through the throng of people. Once outside the cold hits him like a bucket of ice water. It feels good. Sobering. But hardly enough. He hasn't been this drunk since his days as a drifter.

Dean. What was that look on his face, that set off the warning bells?

Cas racks his brain as he stumbles away from the people waiting in line. He heads to an alley by the corner.

 _Possessive_.

That's it. Dean had looked possessive, to the point of aggressiveness and hunger.

Cas wants that. He wants it so badly, but it's bad. Why is it bad? Cas hisses in frustration as thoughts simmer in an useless jumble in his brain, eluding his grasp. This is why he shouldn't allow himself to let go of his tightly held control.

He taps out a cigarette and lights it. Inhaling deeply while he puts the packet back.

The way Dean had looked at him...

He has not wanted to be owned before. He's always the most comfortable following a leader. His father, the silver man, Lucifer. Taking the responsibility of choice from him. Still, that’s a choice of his own. He'd follow whoever he thought worthy, not because he's owned, a possession. But with Dean... it's something different all together.

When it comes to sexual partners he would not tolerate them leaving marks. Hickeys and bite marks spoke of ownership. He left them frequently enough, but other people were not allowed to do the same. With Dean though, he wants to belong to him. They are vastly different, yet equals in Cas' eyes. He has started to fantasize about Dean sinking those perfect teeth into his skin, biting down on the verge of breaking skin, leaving his mark for the world to see...

Wait. That triggers something in the back of his mind. Something about the reason he shouldn't have spoken so freely tonight.

He takes another deep inhale of smoke.

 

_For the world to see..._

 

That’s important somehow.

Suddenly he's slammed roughly back first into the wall, cigarette dropping from his hand and smoke knocked out of his lungs in a harsh exhale. Hands grabs the back of his thighs and pulls, making him slide partway down the wall, opening his legs up to a V. Then the hands are gone and somebody has stepped in between his legs, pressing up crotch to crotch. Dazed, Cas looks up to find himself staring into Dean's burning eyes. Dean has placed his hands on the wall on each side of Cas' body. He's hovering, menacing, hungry. The predator simile isn't far off.

"You think you can just say things like that and _walk away_ from me, Angel?" Dean's voice is rough.

"I'm pretty sure I just did," Cas replies with a faint smile. His heart is beating rapidly and his head is spinning. He can feel that Dean is hard where he presses up against Cas’ crotch and his own body is eagerly responding.

" _Fuck_ , Angel! Do you have _any_ idea what you're doing to me?!" Dean bends down and buries his face in the crook of Cas' neck. Cas opens up for him, makes space. Hot lips and tongue explores his throat. Cas' hips buck and he grabs Dean's jacket lapels, clinging. His body’s on fire. He means to answer Dean but all that comes out is a noise between a groan and a whimper.

"God, Cas! You know how long I've wanted to do this?" Dean says breathily, lips against his ear, before he sucks Cas' earlobe into his mouth and teases it with his teeth. His breath in Cas' ear makes every hair stand on end and sends a shiver through his body. Dean moves his hands from the wall and grabs Cas' hips. Fingers digging in brutally. It's painful but Cas couldn't give a shit because Dean's rubbing them together creating blessed friction despite the discomfort of the zipper.

Cas sucks a mark on Dean's neck, too high to be hidden by a collar. Dean is _his_! He wants the world to know that!

And that is when Cas' brain decides to kick into gear. Sam had warned him about Dean getting overly honest and forgetting all about it if he's too drunk. If they go the mile now and wake up together tomorrow, entangled and marked up from a night of passion, and Dean doesn’t remember it, he might have, no―he _would_ have the freak out of the century! Sending him so far back in the closet Cas would have to traverse _Narnia_ to get to him again. Patience is the key. Had Cas only wanted a one night stand it wouldn't have mattered. But he wants more and he needs it to be a conscious choice on Dean's part. Cas doesn’t mind having to hide what they have going on until Dean is ready to come out in the open, which he isn't yet. Less than three hours ago he'd fled in panic at the thought of Sam spotting them.

"Dean. Stop. Sam could come back any time now."

Dean chuckles while kissing and nipping along his neck. "If he wanna watch he's welcome to," Dean says, Cas feels him smile against his neck.

"Are you drunk?"

Please say no. Please say you're tipsy! _Please_ don't say―

"Yeah, a bit drunk."

 

**_Bloody_ HELL!**

 

That settles it. Dean's over the limit. It's frighteningly hard to gather up enough self-control to push Dean away, but he manages.

"Stop it, Dean," he says as Dean staggers backward from the hard shove needed to dislodge Dean's hands on his hips. Cas is not sober enough for diplomacy so he just turns towards the opening of the alley and starts walking. He doesn't get far before Dean grabs a hold of him, slams him back towards the wall and twists his hands into his jacket. He's pissed off.

" _Whatta Hell_ , Cas!! Don't play games with me!!"

"I'm not playing games, Dean! I want this as much as you do! But you're too drunk and won't remember it tomorrow and that will fuck up _everything_!"

" _Fuck_ you! You're the one who's fucked up everything! I was fine before you came along and flashed those fucking blue eyes of yours!! I'm going fucking **_insane_ ** and it's _**your** _ fucking fault, you fucking bastard!!" Their faces are mere inches apart. Dean's teeth are bared in a snarl and his eyes are flashing dangerously. Pent-up anger and frustration ready to uncoil.

Cas is messed up. He _knows_ he's messed up, because right now Dean is dangerous, uninhibited, and unpredictable. Flitting from emotion to emotion in a heartbeat and unlikely to hold back on anything he feels in the moment. And Cas _knows_ he's messed up because Dean like this, is the most enchanting thing he can imagine and he _Wants_ this. Want with a capital W! How on earth can he deny Dean anything when he demands it so forcefully? He can't. Cas has no fight or flight mode. For him it's fight or fuck and whichever Dean chooses right now - in the glare of those burning eyes. There's no more self-control left in Cas to refuse it right now.

"Guys!! Why'r you fightin'!?!" Sam's desperate voice breaks the spell for both of them.

Dean looks up and sees his brother staring at them with worried puppy eyes from the alley's opening. Dean's anger is still intact, but jarred.

"Tell him, Dean. Tell him why you're angry. If you are willing to do that I will concede to any of your demands. If not - trust my judgement that tonight is not the right time," Cas urges Dean, handing over the reins for the decision. Willing to throw all caution overboard if Dean is.

Dean opens his mouth and inhales, about to speak, but no words come out. Anger is replaced with uncertainty, then dejection. He lets go of Cas and steps away, rubbing his neck self-consciously.

"That's what I thought," Cas grouses and then turns towards Sam while grabbing hold of Dean's jacket. "Come on. Let's go home!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. I'll be throwing in some past now and then from now on, mainly because of plot reasons I need to use outsiders POV. The reason I put the clips of the past where they are might be far-fetched but there are connections between the glimpses of the past and why they end up in the chapter they do. 
> 
> As always - thanks for reading and commenting!


	31. ...You gotta get with my friends.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangover is a bitch. Cas doesn't sing Spice Girls to Dean. Sam is one step closer to figuring out why Dean sings Spice Girls. And 7 years ago Dean encounters Lucifer for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.  
> \- A bit fluffy I guess?
> 
> This chapter was actually ready 12 hours ago but as I was about to post I decided that the 7 year back flashback needed to be in Dean's POV instead of Luci's POV as I had written first. You'll get to see Luci's POV from the same scene later on.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER...**

* * *

A horrible sound wakes him up, making his head explode. Well. That's what it feels like anyway. His brain feels like it is two sizes too big for his skull and trying to pound its way through.

Fuck!

He opens his eyes and squeezes them shut immediately, instantly regretting opening them as it makes his head spin and hits his stomach with a wave of nausea. He groans pitifully.

 _Fuuuuuck!_ He has the worst hangover of the century going. And there is this insistent sound screaming for his attention. Supposedly music? Who'd play music in his bed now?

Phone. Right.

Fuck 'em.

Let it ring. He ain't picking up.

The ringtone is somewhat unfamiliar. Something he added to personalize a contact a couple of days ago.

"... _Don't you wish you could hold... The angel in the centerfold... The fantasy you couldn't control._.."

Centerfold, by Pink.

Wait! That's Cas' signal!!

Before he realizes he’s doing so, he scrambles for the source of the sound on his bed without opening his eyes. His hand closes around the phone and he slides a finger over the screen to answer, going on habit. Deeming holding the phone as too much of an exertion he rolls over to his side, causing another wave of nausea to roll through his body. He lays the phone over his ear, resting on his cheek, and curls himself into a fetal position.

" _I hate you,_ " he croaks as a greeting.

A low rough chuckle answers that statement. "Oh good. I was afraid I was going to suffer through a day in purgatory alone, but it seems like you're there too." Cas voice is even more gravelly than usual, sounding totally wrecked.

Despite a murderous headache and nausea, small butterflies flutter their wings in his belly and the corner of his lip twitches with the beginning of a smile. "Yeah. I'm right there with you, buddy... What time is it?"

"I don't know. Haven't opened my eyes yet," Cas says.

The implications of that statement make the butterflies become more insistent. "Dude. That's not even possible. You have a touchscreen phone..."

That rough warm chuckle rolls over the line again. " _Fine_. You got me. I did open my eyes but somebody replaced all the moisture in them with cotton and gravel so I closed them again as soon as I had made the call. Besides, it _is_ possible. You can program the phone to call using voice, remember?"

Dean smiles at this. Cas voice is a balm. "Why did you call?"

"I woke up in the wrong bed."

Something cold twists in Dean, he frowns. "I thought you went to the Garrison?" He hates that he can hear hurt in his voice.

Cas hums. "That's what I meant, Dean," Cas says with soft warmth, an audible smile.

Realisation at what Cas means instantly vaporizes the hurt and floods him with warmth, plasters a smile on his face. Shit. Cas is making him a total sap!

Dean doesn't answer. Just listens to the soft sound of Cas breathing on the other side of the line. He's not here, but close enough.

"Dean. What is the last thing you remember from yesterday?" Cas asks into the silence that stretched between them.

Dean runs yesterday night through his head with a happy feeling in his gut. If possible, his crush on Cas has grown even more during their night out. Then they came to the club...

"Um... We were at a dance club. ..And we were... _dancing_... with a girl." _And I rubbed myself against you and it was fucking glorious. We almost kissed and I felt you come in my hand, saw how you look when you come and the sight of that drove me over and made me come like an inexperienced schoolboy because you're the most fucking amazing person I've ever desired!_

He doesn't say that part, though. He can't make the words come out of his mouth, afraid that saying them out loud will either spark another freak out like the one he had yesterday, or that Cas will hear how fucking totally utterly besotted he is in Cas. The memory makes him giddy though.

Cas hums again. A long, dreamy kind of hum, like he too is replaying the memory. "Do you remember anything after that?"

"Um... I had to go to the toilet." _I fled in total panic and hid in the toilet because I thought Sammy had seen what you and I_ really _did, then I had a small mental breakdown and now I'm embarrassed as fuck about it._

Oddly, though, the thought that he ran and hid is much more embarrassing than the thought about what he and Cas had done.

"And then...?" Cas prompts.

"Then it starts getting really fuzzy. We were at the bar I think? Sammy left with a girl, didn't he? After that, it's just blank... Shit, Sammy. Did he get home alright?"

Cas sighs. "Yes, Dean. He did. We went home together all three of us after you and I had drained the bar of alcohol and thus securing this morrow's hangover. If there's any fairness in the world, he's in his bed feeling as shitty as both of us.... Hold on a sec." There's some scraping rustling sound, then the sounds become muted, like Cas holds a hand over the microphone, but Dean can still hear him in the background.

 _"Luci, just because I have my eyes closed doesn't mean I can't hear you looming disapprovingly above me. Hungover or not - if you don't get out of my room right now I_ will _go teenage mutant ninja turtle on your ass!"_

Dean sniggers. He hears somebody―Lucifer probably―tut in the background. Then there's a shuffling sound, then Cas is back.

"Sorry about that," he says.

"Lucifer is a big bag of dicks," Dean says.

"He's really not, Dean. Not to people he cares about. But while we're on the subject; Do I have to sing Spice Girls' 'Wanna Be' to you, to get a point across before it becomes a problem? Or can we pretend I already did?"

Dean snorts a laugh against his will. He really would like to hear Cas croon Spice Girls. But that would equal talking about what's going on between them, putting it into actual words, even if they're borrowed from a song. It would make everything so tangible in a way Dean isn't ready for yet. He wants to be, but isn't. They're already toeing the line with what they're saying. The things left unsaid lurk so close to the surface it can't be mistaken for anything else.

Dean's quiet for quite a while. Cas doesn't say anything either. It's not an oppressing silence. They're lying in their own beds with their eyes closed, both suffering the punishing consequences of last night's debauchery. But not alone. Together. And that feels good. Cas using the allegory 'Purgatory' is very fitting.

"I... I can't make any promises, Angel... I mean, I can't stand the guy, but. ...But I'll try, okay?" Dean says at last.

"That is all I ask, Dean. Thank you."

They continue talking for a while longer. Mostly they're just silent, saying random little nothings that make the other person smile or chuckle and then just listening to each other's soft breathing. Dean pictures Cas being there with him, holding him like the last time Cas stayed the night. He falls asleep without hanging up. He thinks perhaps Cas fell asleep before him.

* * *

Sam doesn't wake up until late afternoon. And what wakes him is Dean singing while rummaging around in the kitchen. Singing. Now that's weird. Sure, Sam slept quite long and Dean has an astounding pace for recovery from hangovers, but they still usually leave him grumpy all day.

Sam heaves his legs over the edge of his bed with a grunt. He doesn't feel as bad as he expected. A dull headache, dry eyes and mouth, soreness in his body and a slight muscle-fever in his legs from dancing. _Dancing_! He snorts in amusement. He doesn't dance. He knows he looks like a giant buffoon while doing so. It's not that he's bothered by looking silly, but usually, whoever dances with him is bothered by it.

Last night had been a blast! It is the first time he'd seen Cas truly drunk too. Cas had said he wanted them to really know him. Sam got the feeling that last night, as mad as it had been, had been just scratching the surface. The only drawback had been the fight. Sam had worried about Dean turning asshole towards Cas if he got too drunk before. But he thought the risk of that had passed. Obviously, it hasn't because when he came back from whatshername's apartment he had found them fighting. By chance actually. He had heard Dean's furious voice coming from an alley he was about to pass.

" _... I'm going fucking_ **insane** _and it's_ **your** _fucking fault, you fucking bastard!!_ "

Dean had been pushing Cas up against a wall, basically holding him up on his toes by the collar, clearly enraged. Cas was cool as a cucumber. The strange thing is, that when Cas told Dean to explain to Sam what they were fighting about, Dean had just deflated and become embarrassed. Sam had expected the fighting or at least bickering to continue afterwards. It hadn't. In the taxi back home Cas and Dean had been sitting together in the back seat, giggling like teenagers and at one point he's pretty sure there had been a tickling match going on there. It got to the point that the cab driver told them to calm down or take another cab.

He really wants to ask his brother about the fight, but he knows Dean had been too drunk to remember. The whole thing is just... odd. Probably something Cas had said or done because he was drunk. Well. Oddness obviously spilled over to today considering the singing in the kitchen. Better go investigate. But first - toilet.

Once Sam has relieved himself, taken a shower and brushed his teeth, he feels better and makes his way to the kitchen. He has to stop and grin in the doorway. Dean’s wearing the apron and chef's hat Sam had bought for him as a joke a couple of years back, and he’s cooking dinner while dancing enthusiastically.

"... _If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends_ ..." Dean sings.

"Dude! Are you singing Spice Girls?!" Sam chuckles.

Dean turns around, grinning broadly and brandishing a ladle as if he is playing a high hat with it and the other hand playing invisible drums.

"Yup! Seems, Sammyboy, that your big brother has turned into a teenage girl and _likes_ it!" he says and waggles his eyebrows. Then he purses his lips, closes his eyes and does a full drum solo on invisible drums.

Sam laughs disbelievingly.

"Yeah I can see that, but _why_?"

" _Aha_! That's for me to know and you to figure out!" Dean beams and waggles his eyebrows again before launching himself into singing and turning back to their dinner.

".. _.What do you think about that, now you know how I feel? Say you can handle my love - are you for real? I won't be hasty, I'll give you a try - If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye!_.."

Sam grins and shakes his head. It doesn't really matter. Dean has made coffee and dinner is almost ready. His brother is obviously happy to the point of bursting and it’s contagious. Sam pours himself a cup of coffee and when Dean launches into another air drum solo Sam joins him with an air guitar solo of his own, both brothers laughing.

After dinner when Sam’s watching TV and Dean’s cleaning the apartment, still singing but now 'Life is a Highway' by Tom Cochrane, Sam remembers all the covert texting Dean's been doing for weeks now and how they make his brother _giggle_ and blush. Dean's acted like this before, but not to this extent. However, when he did it, it was with Lisa and Cassie. Sam thinks maybe that's it. Dean has met a girl and fallen in love! Sam turns around and looks at his brother currently mopping the floor in the hallway. Yep. That must be it. And it has been going on for weeks, maybe months if he thinks back carefully. Mood swings, the texting. Going from mopey to happy for no particular reason. But who can it be? He has hardly seen Dean with any girls at all lately. But then again that also adds up if he met somebody out of state while they were on the road. But why hasn't Dean told him about her? Maybe she isn't as into his brother as he is into her. Or maybe she’s married? There must be a reason for the secrecy because the more Sam thinks about it the more certain he is. Dean has a secret crush!

* * *

**27 january 2007**

* * *

(Sam is 13, Dean 18, Luci 20 - accounting for their birthdays)

He's been bouncing in his seat for two periods. Three days ago he'd turned 18 and therefore is allowed to play in the adult division. The first game is a derby. He’s up against the fucking Angels in his first game and damned if that doesn’t feel totally awesome! Gabe has kept him benched, though. All the way until the third period when it finally came; "Get out there and show us what you're made of, kiddo!" And, oh boy, he has! The crowd is cheering so wildly now, it lifts the roof. He’s just gotten in a third goal! A hat-trick on his debut! This is what it must feel like taking really good drugs or something because he certainly feels high. Sam’s jumping up and down, wolf-whistling and beaming pride so hard it lights up the whole ice hall. (Seems like that to Dean anyway.)

Dean skates a victory lap and when he closes in on two Angels one of them speaks up.

"Congratulations on the hat trick, Winchester! Well played," the man said. The captain. He smiles an open and friendly smile and that makes no sense to Dean. He slows down. The captain is a good looking guy, straight-backed and proud posture. Dark hair that could be seen peeking out under the helmet, sharp blue eyes. Dean racks his brain for a name.

"Michael, right?" he says. The captain's smile broadens.

"That's right. And you're Dean. I believe we'll be hearing your name a lot more in the future."

Dean snorts somewhere between amusement and scepticism. Yeah right. Why is he trying to butter me up? Not buying what you're sellin', buddy. Something's fishy.

The other Angel beside him is another matter. That dude is dangerous, Dean can see it straight away. It's in those cold ice blue eyes studying him from under heavy lids, but he literally has no readable expression. Even his posture screams 'neutral'. Dean can’t gauge what he thinks, for the life of him. Lucifer Morningstar. Even the name is a warning. Good player, though. He has scored this period and Dean's been chasing him on and off since he came on the ice, even if he hadn't gotten the chance to size him up until now.

"Thanks," he says and skates off with a nod.

The remaining period gets kind of nasty afterwards. Morningstar is on him relentlessly. Checking him on any opportunity. And not nicely either. He's good at the ugly stuff. getting extra jabs in exactly in the angles where judges won't see, aiming pressure on places that hurt like a bitch but thankfully won't maim. Scariest thing is that he's so cold about it, expression blank, like he doesn't care one way or another. When there's less than a minute left of the game and Morningstar smashes him up against the board Michael skates by and simply says "Enough." Lucifer backs off immediately. Michael smiles apologetically towards Dean. Lucifer doesn't touch him during the remaining minute.

Dean's pretty bashed up when he gets off the ice. The elation of winning the game and making the hat trick numbs the pain pretty well. He hides his limp from Sammy. His kid brother is turning 14 and joining the youth division in less than four months, he doesn’t have to be worried. Besides, Sam's so fucking proud of Dean right now, like he's the most awesome big brother in the history of mankind. (Which he is.) Showing he's in pain might spoil that. Just man up and walk it off.

He runs into Lucifer on his way out, just by the doors. He's expecting to be shoved or something after how badly Morningstar abused him by the end of the game. That's not what happens. Lucifer just holds the door open for Dean and gives him a polite nod before walking away.

Huh.

* * *


	32. Yeah. A bit drunk...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer's very first encounter with the Winchesters 7 years ago. Also, say hello to Michael. *everybody waves* " _Hello, Mikey._ "
> 
> Cas and Dean are separated. Dean should not be allowed phone privileges when he is drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> I'm being totally bombarded with flashes of the past. I was planning to keep the _Porodica_ a bit more of a mystery for a while and only show you Samfier as it developes today but I'm afraid my muse will not let me and is blasting me with scenes from the past so against my will you'll have a couple of glimpses of early Samfier coming your way after this chapter. You know how it is. Try to defy the muse and it will slap a writer's block in your face. So. No messing with the muse, scratch the original planning and let's jump back a few years. Starting with Dean's debut game in the adult section of Team Free Will, this time from Luci's POV.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**27 January, 2007**

* * *

The signal for goal sounds and the newest member of the adult section of Team Free Will whoops and pumps his fist in the air to the cheers of the crowd.

"Hell _yeah_! Winchester to the rescue!" he bellows proudly.

Luci follows the younger man with his gaze as the 18-year-old skates along the board with a huge grin. His pride is well earned. The Angels had led with 1 - 0 all through the first and second period. Now, during the third period, Gabriel had decided to switch one of the first liners for the youngest addition and that had been a golden move as Winchester has managed to change the score to 1 - 2 for Free Will. He is rough around the edges and inexperienced but has both raw talent and an aura that catches attention. Luci thinks he'll go far. Add to it that he is very beautiful for a man, and the media will go nuts over him once he reaches ChHL. And he will, unless he’s injured. Luci has no doubt about it.

Winchester stops by the board and leans over, talking to somebody in the audience. Luci can only hear what the young hockey player is saying.

"Did you see me, Sammy?! Your big brother's awesome! Goddam _right_ I am!"

Luci's curiosity is piqued and he skates closer, intending a slow skate by. But Winchester skates away when he's closing in so he stops, level with the place Winchester had been standing, and looks at the audience.

"My brother's gunna squish you Angels!" A young teen, 13 or 14 years maybe taunts him with a huge dimpled grin, beaming with as much pride as his brother just had displayed. He’s gangly in a way that shows he's just hitting a growth spurt, has brown floppy hair ending above his ears, hazel eyes, and radiates an exuberance, and unspoiled innocence.

"I wouldn't bet on it, Sammy," Luci smirks at the kid.

The kid shutters down a mask of annoyance and suspicion. "It's _Sam_! And he will!" Sammy corrects.

"I will give you as much as to admit I think he has a raw talent, Sammy," Luci says still with a smirk on his lips. The kid immediately beams at him again. "But one game doesn't make a season," he concludes and skates away from the kid with a wink.

The game goes on, Luci evens out the score with an assist from Mikey. Something that only serves to fuel the determination of the youngest player in the opposing team. Two minutes later Winchester scores again, making a hat trick in his debut game.

"WhooHooo! Yeah, Baby! I'm on a _roll_!!!"

Mikey skates up alongside Luci and sneers in the direction of the young player making a victory lap and showing off for the crowd. "Fucking mudmonkey!" he spits.

"A diamond in the rough, I'd say. We should buy him over," Luci replies and Mikey gives him a disgusted look.

"We should recruit from higher leagues, not claim dredges from the local wildlife," Mikey says and Luci shrugs indifferently. Mikey was always _Otac's_ best disciple, taking over his views of who’s worthy or not. Luci doesn’t see eye to eye with them on that matter. Everybody bleeds the same. And screams the same. Heritage or accumulated power does not change those facts. Mikey hates it here, and by extension hates anybody who stems from twin towns.

When Winchester's victory lap takes him closer to them Luci lets his face become impassive and Mikey puts on his 'genuine friendly' face.

"Congratulations on the hat trick, Winchester! Well played!" Mikey smiles at the Freewillian who slows down.

Winchester smiles back but his eyes instantly turn wary and suspicious. The innocence his brother has, is not to be found here. Luci sizes him up, as is his job. What he sees in this young man he's seen in men surrounding _Otac_ all his life. Alley rats, henchmen, fighters, _pawns_. Clawing their way through life to survive from a young age. Driven by hunger or greed and learning the hard way that a friendly face does not mean friendly intent. But Mikey’s very convincing, helped along by being young and handsome.

"Michael, right?" Winchester says. Mikey's smile broadens.

"That's right. And you're Dean. I believe we'll be hearing your name a lot more in the future."

Dean snorts somewhere between amusement and scepticism. Not fooled by flattery.

"Thanks," he says and skates off with a nod.

Mikey looks at Luci.

"Well? Assessment?" he prompts. He isn't asking for hockey evaluation. He never does.

"Tough love home. Petty crimes. Fighter. Possibly killer. No drugs," Luci reports.

Mikey snorts.

"Like I said. Mudmonkey. Check him. Be nasty about it," Mikey orders and skates off, knowing his orders will be obeyed.

It's a small thing to do in comparison to what he’s raised for. He gives Dean a couple of ugly checks before the game is over. The young man will be limping home but nothing that won't heal soon enough. And his hat-trick will soothe the pain. Pain which he handles very well and quietly, except for cursing Luci out, furthering the tough love home assessment. It's not a chore that sticks in Luci's mind.

_Usually_.

Later, though, he finds himself thinking about the Winchester brothers. The contrast between them and how it came to be. He’s curious about them. For some reason, both of them made an impression. Especially the younger boy. There was just something special about him that Luci can't put his finger on...

* * *

* * *

**THE CERULEAN WARBLER**

* * *

The weeks roll by painfully slow. Cas is still benched during the first games even if he gets to take on more and more strenuous practise sessions. Team Free Will and The Angels HC are either both out of town at the same time or at home when the other team is away. Separation is harder than Cas had anticipated. He soon learns to loathe the phrase "Yeah, a bit drunk...". Especially late at night.

(Here's some of Dean's phone activity after a few drinks too many, each from different days.)

* * *

_Incoming message..._

 

**Dean Winchester 23:56 PM:** _they maed a bird of yuor eyes!!!!_

**Cas 00:01 AM:** _What are you talking about?_

**Dean Winchester 00:03 AM:** _ss real prtety too. I saw it!_  
 **Dean Winchester 00:04 AM:** _Twasnt doing so good tho..._

**Cas 00:07 AM:** _Are you drunk? You are not making any sense._

**Dean Winchester 00:09 AM:** _yeah bit drunk_

**Cas 00:10 AM:** _Dean. What does a bird have to do with my eyes?_

**Dean Winchester 00:12 AM:** [ _Picture included_ : depicting a small bird sitting on a table looking a bit worse for the wear but beautifully coloured. Blue back, white chest and some black markings.]

**Cas 00:15 AM:** _That's a male cerulean warbler. Did you take that picture? They're supposed to winter in South America_.

**Dean Winchester 00:17 AM:** _lucky bastards! wanna winter in warm pelacess too_  
 **Dean Winchester 00:17 AM:** _tis one not so lukcy tho.. heh_  
 **Dean Winchester 00:18 AM:** _but prettty. like your eyes!_

**Cas 00:20 AM:** _I hesitate to say this, but thank you for the compliment._  
 _Now go to sleep, Dean. I think it's in your best interest to sober up considerably._

**Dean Winchester 00:21 AM:** _yeah. sleeping suonds awesome! good idea!!!!_

**Cas 00:23 AM:** _Good night, Dean._

**Dean Winchester 00:24 AM:** _nite Angel_

* * *

**[01:16 AM Incoming call: Dean Winchester]**

 

"Hello, Dean."

"....'ts stupid. 'ts all so stupid. I don't get it, Angel. _Why_?"

"I don't know, Dean. What is..." (interrupted)

"I mean. I'm not like that, Cas! I'm _not_!"

"Like what?"

"Y'know.... Like _that_."

"I don't 'know'. You have to explain it to me."

"It's wrong, Cas. 'ts just... _wrong_!"

"What is wr..." (interrupted)

"Not like I judge or anything, but I am not like that! 'ts just fucking stupid..."

"Dean, are you alright? You sound very distressed."

"No... Yeah. Look, Cas, I don't get it. What the fuck is _happening_ to me?!?"

"Dean..." (interrupted)

"I like girls, Cas! _GIRLS_!"

_*tired groan*_ "Are you drunk?"

"Yeah. A bit drunk..."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Dean. Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning, hangover not accounted for. If you really wish to have this discussion with me, call me tomorrow when you've sobered up, okay?"

"Yeah... Yeah okay. I should probably do that. 'm kinda tired."

"Sleep is the best remedy for that, so just go to bed."

"Okay, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

"'Nite, Angel."

 

**[Call ended.]**

* * *

_Incoming message..._

 

**Dean Winchester 03:26 AM:** _Whattcha doin?_  
 **Dean Winchester 03:42 AM:** _Cas?_  
 **Dean Winchester 03:45 AM:** _Caaaaaaaaaaaaas!!!!_  
 **Dean Winchester 03:51 AM:** _Cmon Cas!!_  
 **Dean Winchester 03:55 AM:** _r u buzy?_  
 **Dean Winchester 03:56 AM:** _Cas!_  
 **Dean Winchester 04:01 AM:** _Angel eyes?_  
 **Dean Winchester 04:04 AM:** _CAAAAAAASSSSSSSS!!!_

**Cas 04:05 AM:** _Are you drunk?_

**Dean Winchester 04:06 AM:** _yeah bit drunk_

**Cas 04:07 AM:** _Okay. I'm switching my phone off now. Go to sleep, Dean._

**Dean Winchester 04:08 AM:** _Aww flyboy, don't be like that!_  
 **Dean Winchester 04:11 AM:** _Cas?_

* * *

**[02:08 AM Incoming call: Dean Winchester]**

 

"Hello, Dean."

* _slurred_ *"Did you see me, Angel? I was _awesome_!!!" 

"Yes, I saw the game, Dean. Congratulations on your first hat trick this season."

"I was awesome! You should've seen!!"

"I did see. And you were indeed, as you say, 'awesome'. But Dean, it's two in the morning..." (interrupted)

" _Awww_... you watched my game. I like that. I like that you watch me play, Angel..."

"I watch all your games. Dean, are you drunk?"

"Yeah. A bit drunk.* _giggle_ *"

"We will need to have a discussion about your definition of ' _a bit_ ' next time we meet. Your interpretation of the term seems to be faulty, to say the least. Especially since this appears to have become a habit. First with the bird..." (interrupted)

"Whattcha mean ' _with the bird_ '?"

"I take it you're not in the habit of checking your outgoing phone activities after a night out?"

" _Naaah_. What's with the bird you're talking about?"

"The cerulean warbler. You sent me a picture you took..." (interrupted)

"Right. _Right_! I remember that bird! T'was a real pretty bird! _Awesome_ , like me tonight!"

* _fed up groan_ * "Dean. I need to..." (interrupted)

"You need to get your ass here right now to celebrate with us, Cas!"

"First of all; You are a four-hour flight away. Second; I really need to sleep! It's two in the morning, Dean."

"Aw shit, Angel. Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, you did."

"I'm sorry, Cas. Just wish you were here, ts' all."

* _weary sigh_ * "That's understood, Dean. And under different circumstances, I would have loved to share your victory celebration with you. But now is not the time. You are very inebriated and if you even remember this call in the morning you are going to regret making it. So if you would just let me go back to sleep, that would be great."

"Okay, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

"'Nite, Angel."

"...Oh and, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You were _magnificent_ tonight!"

**[Call ended.]**

"Cas? Cas, are you there?....Aw fuck!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what the bird Dean saw looked like - [Cerulean Warbler](https://www.google.se/search?q=cerulean+warbler&safe=off&espv=2&biw=1920&bih=993&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=_TpJVKvtO4bhywO-4oLYDg&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ#imgdii=_)
> 
> And as always - comments please? :)


	33. The muffin man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Sam meets again, for real this time. 7 years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**9th February 2007**

* * *

Luci’s standing in line in the coffee shop next to Crossroads on the bridge when he hears a vaguely familiar voice behind him in the queue.

"No Dean, I won't.... _Come on_! It's just a party and I'm almost fourteen! .... Of course not. ... no... Well compared to what _you_ did when you were my age this will seem like a bible study group! ... No it _isn't_ a bible study group! How lame do you think my friends are? _Don't_ answer that! ..."

Luci turns his head and there he is, standing in line two people behind him, back half turned away and talking on his cell phone with an exasperated voice and rolling his eyes like he's talking to an overprotective parent. And seeing him makes Luci feel... pleased. Of all these people flitting by in his life, like grey background noise, this boy―however brief their last encounter was―had stood out. Of course, today he knew a great deal more about the boy and his brother. He had compiled a file about the newest addition to Team Free Will as he always does on all the teams' players they were up against. He'd left the file rudimentary, keeping the most of the gathered information locked in his head. He hadn't wanted to share the knowledge with Mikey, which is a first for him. And this boy behind him in line is ultimately the reason Dean Winchester's file is left so basic. Like a dirty little secret. Or maybe the opposite of a dirty secret. Something he wants to keep pure and unspoilt.

Sam’s dressed in a thin grey-green military style jacket hanging open, an open, padded plaid shirt with a hood worn over a Henley in a typical 'I'm-a-teenager-so-I'm-gonna-wear-whatever-I-want-weather-be-damned' manner. He has a red knitted scarf and a beanie on, but no gloves. It’s still way too cold to be wearing that in this frigid weather. Which is probably why he’s in here in the first place, judging by how red his fingers, nose, and cheeks are.

It’s Luci's turn. He orders two muffins and a cup of coffee. After he’s paid, he loiters by the side of the counter. Placing the plate with muffins on top of his coffee mug on the counter, he waits. Either Sam hasn't spotted him or he doesn’t recognise him. It wouldn't have been surprising considering he'd been fully geared last time and now he’s in civilian clothes. Luci keeps his gaze on the boy. In the hand not holding the phone he holds a book, a simple child's story, interestingly enough it’s in Russian. Tucked within the book but poking up is a science paper with a big bold red A+ written in the corner. His knuckles are bruised and scabbed.

Sam hangs up with a frustrated sigh when it's his turn. He orders hot cocoa with whipped cream, smiling politely at the barista but his thoughts are elsewhere. When the barista puts his cocoa on the counter and Sam starts to dig in his wallet Luci throws a fiver on the counter and snatches up his mug with the muffins on top and Sam's cocoa, sauntering off to a round table in the back.

"Hey! That's mine!" he hears indignantly behind him.

Luci sets the mugs down on the table next to each other and places a muffin beside each of them. He sits down in one of the chairs, slouches really, and uses his foot to drag the other chair next to him in a curved motion so that it ends up facing Sam's direction like an invitation. Then he looks up to meet the boy's upset gaze.

"You can't just―!" Sam begins to protest but Luci cuts him off.

"Hello, Sammy _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester," he says in a lazy tone, tilting his head slightly to the side and backwards so he's looking at him from under heavy lids, corners of his lips quirking up in a slight smirk.

The boy seems taken aback, temporarily jarred out of things to say.

Lucifer is curious about what he will do. There are a number of possible reactions to Luci's behaviour.

Sam draws breath as if to say something but lets it out again. The outraged expression has shifted to a shocked one and now shifts to a hesitant, suspicious frown. Sam narrows his eyes, looking at him closely. Still standing a few meters away, shoulders squared but uncertain in his posture.

"You were a total douche to my brother at the end of the game," Sam finally states with a grimace of distaste.

_He remembers me_. There's a muted feeling of elation following that thought. Luci's smirk broadens.

"Yes," he agrees with a nonchalant shrug and doesn't offer anything more, just waits.

Sam looks at Luci, the door, the chair beside Luci, the cocoa and muffin in front of it and then back to Luci. His frown is troubled, his lips pressed together.

"You came here to warm yourself. Sit," Luci bids, using the same lazy tone as before when the silence drags out. He makes sure his tone doesn't imply an order, just a suggestion.

Sam hesitates for a moment more, then his posture relaxes a notch, he draws himself up in a dignified, proud posture. He strides to the chair with assertive steps and sits down, turning his head to look at Luci defiantly, but there's also a spark of anticipation in his eyes. Like he's curious about what will happen next.

Lucifer’s pleased and a bit surprised by Sam's behaviour. There's no way he can know who Luci is. In that case, he would have been afraid. There's no twitchy submissiveness. He doesn't make an impression of sitting down to avoid making a scene. He seems to have wanted it. Interesting...

"Your jacket is too thin for this weather." Luci reaches forward and takes his coffee mug in hand, regarding Sam while he sips from it.

Sam frowns again but then seems to make up his mind. Putting his book on the table and reaching for his cocoa too. He takes a big gulp that must be scalding and then puts it back, licking the whipped cream from his upper lip before he responds, not looking at Luci.

"Yeah well, the jacket I usually wear..."

"Got ruined in the fight," Luci fills in for him and Sam's head whips around so fast it's a wonder the boy doesn’t get whiplash.

"How did you know?" he asks suspiciously, eyes wide under a deep scowl.

Luci chuckles and puts his coffee back on the table, then reaches out and grasp one of Sam's hands gently, running a thumb lightly over the bruised knuckles. Sam doesn't pull his hand back. He's looking down tensely at their hands like he's surprised about both the fact that a stranger just took his hand and that he's allowing it.

Wonder what else this boy will let him do?

He covers Sam's hand with his other hand too. Warming up the cold fingers. Sam lets him raise their hands up towards Luci's face and watches with a perplexed, sceptical expression as Luci cups his hands slightly and blows in warm air between them. He rubs his hands on Sam's to create warmth, careful to not chafe the knuckles too much, and keeps blowing in breaths of warm air.

"Dude. This is weird! I should go..." Sam says with a strange tone.

Luci hums. "Yes. You should," he agrees. "But you won't," he says with nonchalant certainty.

Sam snorts.

"Tell me about the fight," Luci prompts.

It takes a beat but then Sam relaxes with a frustrated sigh. Luci's not looking at him, he is directing his attention to working in warmth in Sam's hand.

"A stupid jock had gotten into his head that I had fooled around with his girlfriend so he and tweedle dee and tweedle dum jumped me. Said a _nerd_ should stay away from girls of her calibre." The last sentence comes out bitterly.

"A nerd?" Luci says lifting an eyebrow looking at him.

Sam's face splits into a cocky grin. "Yeah. You know, one of the _really_ cool kids. One that actually _understands_ what the teacher is saying?"

Luci lets out a little huff of laughter and nods, conceding to the point. He lets go of Sam's hand and gestures for his other hand. Sam puts that hand in Luci's without hesitation. Luci goes to work giving that hand the same warming treatment.

"But you hadn't touched this girl, had you?"

"No. She's really way out of my league. So I haven't. ....Yet," Sam says, now looking amused.

"Yet," Luci repeats, smirk tugging at his lips once more.

"Yeah. I mean. Look. I've already been in a fight over her so I figured, why not give it a try? What's the worst thing that's gunna happen? She could blow me off. Fine. But, you know. Maybe she won't?" There's that glow again. That exuberance that Luci saw at the game.

"So how are you planning to go about it, Sammy?"

Sam's fingers are warm now. Luci removes one hand and lowers the other, Sam's hand resting relaxed in it. He strokes his thumb back and forth over the knuckles softly. Sam either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he doesn't pull back.

"Well. She's gunna be at this party tonight and I was thinking..."

"The party that your brother won't let you go to?" Luci asks. Sam withdraws his hand and looks annoyed. He reaches out for his cocoa and cradles it in both hands, looking down on the melting whipped cream with a frown.

"Yeah," he says before he takes a sip.

Luci sniggers. "Have you told your brother why you want to go to this party?"

Sam sighs but doesn't look up. "No. It's childish, he'll think it’s stupid anyway."

"Are you a gambler, Sammy?"

Sam looks up, annoyed frown and confused eyes. "It's _Sam_. And not really?"

"Tell you what, Sammy. I'll make you a bet anyway. 50 bucks that your brother will let you go, if you call him up right now and tell him what you've just told me," Luci says, a smirk playing on his lips again.

Sam looks sceptical. "Dude. I don't even _have_ 50 bucks."

"Then you'll owe me until you have the money. It's not a problem," Luci says with an uninterested shrug.

"I haven't told him what the fight was about..."

Luci picks up his muffin, breaks off pieces with his hands and starts eating. Not answering and feigning that he doesn’t care what the boy will do. He does, though. He very much wants to know this boy's reaction to... frankly anything and everything. His presence makes Luci feel... content, pleased.

Also, it would be interesting to see if Luci has judged Dean correctly.

Sam peers at him, seems to deliberate with himself for a while, then he comes to a decision, puts down his cocoa and digs up his phone. "Alright," he says, setting himself into a stubborn posture and dials his brother's number. "Dean. Hi. Listen. It's like this..."

Luci listens to the conversation while eating his muffin. Sam is going into much more detail while explaining to his older brother. Luci finishes the last of his muffin and swallows it down with a mouth of coffee before he settles in to just study Sam at the tail end of the conversation. By now he's beaming with elation.

"...Really? Thanks! You're the best!! Alright, see you later. Bye!" Sam hangs up and looks at Luci with a big grin on his face. He suddenly remembers the bet and happiness wars with contrition making his face do a funny expression. "Shit. I owe you 50 bucks. How did you even know?"

"I'm good at judging people's character, Sammy."

Sam snorts but grins in spite of himself then turns to take the muffin beside his cocoa. He peels the paper down and starts eating it like it's an apple.

"Didn't they teach you not to take candy from strangers?" Luci says with a chastening voice.

Sam chews and swallows before he answers. "I've been taught to eat when food is available," he says with a one-sided shrug. "'Sides, this is all weird. You're strange. I owe you 50 bucks I don't have, so I might as well eat what's offered." He looks kind of smug and continues eating, unruffled. Then he halts and frowns, looking aggravated, and adds; "Even if you were a douche to my brother." He then goes on eating but the frown remains.

The boy's displeasure chafes on Luci for some reason. Jars his content feeling.

"Your brother is very talented. I want him bought over to the Angels," he says, not really knowing what prompts it but certain it will dispel the boy's animosity.

It does. Sam lights up with pride from within and he casts Luci a superior look. "Yeah? Good luck with that. He can't be bought."

"Oh? We pay very well."

"Dude. It's not about the money. Dean's not like that. He's loyal." Sam looks very proud of the fact.

Luci hums thoughtfully.

Then it's like a light bulb goes off over Sam. His eyes widen like he's suddenly struck by a thought, then he turns his whole body towards Luci, one elbow resting on the table and the other over the back of the chair. A sly smile creeping on his face and eyes narrowing. Not one for keeping a poker face apparently.

"In fact, I'll bet you 100 bucks that if you try to buy him over, he'll decline no matter how much you offer," Sam says, challenge in his eyes and radiating absolute confidence.

Luci has no doubt that the boy is right. He'd be disappointed if Sam was wrong. Mostly because Sam would be disappointed, he realises. Which is unusual but so is this content feeling the boy's presence provides. He doesn’t want Sam's money though. 50 bucks are nothing to him but he knows money is a struggle for the Winchester brothers so having the boy owing him money will only serve to alienate him. "You're on," he says with a smirk. It will alleviate the barrier of debt he put on the boy, until his part of the new bet is carried out.

"Good. Now, are you going to stop being rude and introduce yourself?" Sam grins.

Luci raises an amused eyebrow. "Well aren't you a sassy one, Sammy. You don't know who I am?"

"It doesn't matter if I know or not, Morningstar. You haven’t told me your name and I have told you mine already at the game. So. You're being rude." Sam puffs up with typical teenage cockiness and defiance.

Luci can't help the little laugh that escapes him. "Fair enough. Hi, I'm Lucifer Morningstar. Pleased to meet you, Sam Winchester," Luci says and offers his hand along with a genuine smile for the first time.

Sam takes the hand and shakes it, also smiling. "Okay. So this all feels really awkward and messed up but still. Um. You know. Nice to meet you? And thanks for the muffin and cocoa."

"Think nothing of it, Sammy," Luci says, letting go of the boy's hand.

"So. Listen. I've gotta go. I'll see you around?" Sam says, looking ....hopeful?

Luci hums. "Do you want to?"

Sam chuckles. "Dude, you're gunna be owing me 50 bucks. What do _you_ think?!"

Luci smirks. "In that case, I'll expect we'll see each other again."

When Sam gets up from the chair Luci suddenly has a bad feeling and grabs the boy's arm. Sam turns around and looks at him questioningly and Luci's eyes bore into him, willing him to take his words to heart. "Whatever you do, Sammy, stay as far away as you possibly can from our Captain, Michael Filiusdei," he warns and then lets go of the arm.

" _Why_?" Sam asks puzzled.

Luci doesn't answer. He picks up his coffee and sips it, looking out of the window. Pretending Sam isn't there. After a moment of being ignored Sam huffs and leaves, Luci twisting his head to look at him go. His heart beats faster than it should. He has just broken the number one rule, never ever put an outsider above anyone in the inner core of the _Porodica_. However innocuous the warning might have seemed, it isn't. Mikey has saved his life a number of times, cared for him and showered him with love and affection since day one. They have worked jobs together, trained together and grown closer than the rest. And when Luci rebelled and came here, determined to live his own life, Mikey followed him despite having grander wishes than a small town life and a struggling team in division 2. Luci loves him fiercely despite all his twisted urges. There’s nothing he wants to deny him. Until now. And that is dangerous thinking, even for someone with Luci's rank. _Especially_ for someone with Luci's rank. He can only hope this will never become an issue...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please. It speeds up my writing process. I already have a whole chapter I need to scrap because I'm not pleased with how it developed. It's what happens when Cas and Dean are apart. A key scene is coming up and while that is no problem the events leading up to it can be one of about a gazillion and it's giving me problem. Comment to jar me out of indecision please. I'm also a bit uncertain from who's POV the events leading up to the key scene is to be seen from. Ugh.


	34. A sure bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luci gets an excuse for seeking out Sam 7 years ago and has a new hobby in the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**16th March 2007**

* * *

They're walking down the bridge on their way back to their own side of twin towns when Luci spots Dean Winchester in the warm light spilling out from the windows at Crossroads. It's dark outside and winter still has their world in a vice. Luci grabs Mikey's arm to stop him.

"What?" Mikey says and looks at him questioningly.

Luci nods towards the Crossroads and Dean who's inside enjoying a beer and reading something. "Go inside and make him an offer to join our team. Any price," Luci says.

Mikey follows his gaze and looks back at him with an annoyed frown. "I thought I told you, I don't want that mudmon..."

Luci cuts him off. "Doesn't matter. He will say no. Just go in there and pitch him, I'll wait outside."

Mikey's features smooth out and he nods. Not questioning the request he heads into the Crossroads and Luci settles in to watch from the other side of the street. Mikey outranks him both in the team and privately. Though they're supposed to be equals in private. The only ones to know they're not, are the others in the inner core of the Porodica. This doesn't mean Mikey won't obey orders from Luci when he gives them like this. They both have their quirks and hobbies. Mikey's are of a more physical nature than Luci's. Luci enjoys studying people's reactions as a 'hobby' so this is not the first time Luci has asked him to do something out of the blue just as an experiment. He could, of course, do it himself, but for many years now they have this good cop/bad cop routine down to perfection. Mikey's job is to charm and sell, to pitch ideas, to make people think he is their friend and ally. Luci's job is to assess, gather information, cause fear and enforce.

He doesn't mind playing the bad guy in this partnership. Anybody who’s been subjected to both of them in a violent way would agree that Luci is the better choice of a tormentor as he prefers a more straight to the point and efficient way of working. Mikey revels in drawn-out pain and fear. Luci knows he looks like a bad boy. He can't hide the jaded coldness in his eyes. The lack of empathy. And even if he feels it, which he does sometimes, he's not allowed to act upon it anyway. His cold outward appearance makes him ill-suited to do what Mikey does now.

Mikey has bought two beers and Jägermeister and is now sitting down with Dean, offering him one of the beer/jäger combos with an open smile. Luci’s studying Dean during the talk. Not exactly a poker-faced person, just like his little brother. He’s polite by all means, and he smiles when he's supposed to. But it still takes 20 minutes before the suspiciousness leaves his eyes and he relaxes. Luci must give him credit for that, because Mikey is good at what he does and most people are much more easily duped. He starts to talk more openly, gesturing and laughing. More time passes. Dean is repeatedly shaking his head now while talking, even if his smile remains. Then Mikey finally gets up to leave, shaking Dean's hand as he does so.

Luci has waited outside for 40 minutes. He’s chilled to the bone from standing still, despite the thick layers of warm clothing. It's a relief when Mikey finally comes walking towards him friendly face falling off and replaced with something hard and spiteful.

"He said no," Mikey says when he joins Luci.

"Good."

"Can't believe he said no!" Mikey complains as they start walking again.

Luci chuckles at that. "I thought you didn't want him on the team?"

"I don't. I just don't like it when people deny me. Especially mudmonkeys."

Luci hums noncommittally. His mind has already wandered off to planning how he should set up his next meeting with Sam. After all, now he owes the boy 50 bucks. The thought makes the corners of his lips quirk up in a secret little smile.

* * *

**HIDDEN TALENTS AND RESTLESSNESS**

* * *

( _Present day…_ )

They're sitting in a hotel lobby, just idling. Cassie’s staring at his phone again. Grumpiness pouring through every cell. Dean has barely responded to any of his texts this week. Not wanting to seem needy, Cassie has resorted to frequent staring contests with his phone, not being the winner of any of them since no amount of staring would make the phone chirp or ring. It’s both amusing and bothersome.

Meanwhile, Luci has found a new game to amuse himself with. As Cassie isn't like the rest of the team, he will put up with an infinite load of crap without even being slightly unfazed. What he puts up with can vary and Luci finds it a very rewarding pastime to try out where Cassie's limits lie.

"Get me a cup of coffee," Luci says.

"You're not an invalid. Get it yourself," Cassie snaps, not looking up from his phone where he’s scrolling through old texts.

Luci sits up straight and pins him with a warning stare. Cassie sighs deeply and rolls his eyes, looking up to meet his eyes with a dry expression.

"I'll tell you what. I can break one of your legs. Then you'll be incapacitated enough to warrant butler service and I'll get you any caffeinated beverage you may desire. How about that, hmm?" Cassie raises one or his eyebrows inquiringly.

Luci sniggers and leans back in his lounge chair, interlacing his fingers over his stomach. So, getting him coffee is a too menial task to obey. When Luci doesn't respond Cassie goes back to his phone.

This far, Luci has concluded that where Luci himself is concerned, Cassie has no line drawn when it comes to material belongings. You can eat the food off his plate without him protesting. He'd just wait, face impassive, until you were done. If there was food left, he'd eat, if not he'd put the dishes away. One day Luci had come into his hotel room to find him lying in bed, reading. Luci had lain down beside him, taken the book out of his hands, and started reading. Cassie had just put his hands under his head and waited. After one hour Luci gave the book back, Cassie had found the page he was on and started reading again, not a word was spoken.

Luci has also discovered hidden talents within Cassie that he finds exhilarating. It had begun with a phone number. There had been a receptionist that had been very unpleasant and forbidding towards them. Later, on a whim, Luci asked Cassie to get him her private phone number. Without any questions asked Cassie had done it, successfully, despite her previous hostility. When Cassie came back with her number Luci had crumpled the note and thrown it away in front of him. No reaction. But a pat on the shoulder given afterwards had yielded the slightest pleased smile from his little brother. These orders had escalated. Yesterday when they arrived at this hotel Luci had given Cassie his biggest challenge yet. He'd told Cassie that they were going to sleep in the suite and not pay for it, then he had simply thrown a small meaningful look between Cassie and the receptionist and that was all that was needed. It had taken Cassie 10 minutes before he came back with the key cards for the suite. It’s like Luci had gotten a personal present the day Cassie showed up on the doorstep of the Garrison and only now discovered its true value. He wonders what other talents the man is hiding.

The elevator beside them dings and Balt steps out.

Cassie doesn't even look up before speaking short and demanding. "Balt. Lucifer wants coffee. Go get it."

Balt drops his bag by the lounge chairs and goes off muttering "Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a bunch."

Cassie looks up and throws Luci a pointed look and says; "There. I got you your coffee."

Luci sniggers again. He likes the way Cassie thinks.

There’s something off about Cassie, though. At first, Luci had written it down to be connected only to the Dean Winchester situation. Now he’s not so sure anymore. There’s something seething under the surface. A restlessness like that of an addict gone without drugs for too long. It has surfaced from time to time earlier too, thinking back at the months they have known each other, but lately, it has been ever present. Nobody else seems to notice. Even if 'grumpy' has been Cassie's default setting the last month, it’s still easily dispelled by the guys when they put a little effort into it. Balt especially is excellent at switching Cassie's mood around. And oddly enough, so are Disney movies. A method Luci is loath to use, though, after the whole 'Frozen' debacle which ended with a 6-hour bus trip with Cassie and Balt singing off-key duets of each song in the movie the whole trip. _Sober_. There weren't enough songs in that damned movie to cover 6 hours so they were stuck on repeat. Making different voices for the characters and generally torturing their teammates. Luci gets a headache just thinking about it.

He’s going to put some thought into what it is that makes Cassie restless. And as soon as he figures it out, whatever hunger is gnawing at his little brother, he'll make sure that it gets sated. Firstly he has to pinpoint the moments when it has been at its lowest…

* * *


	35. Trying not to love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is not coping well. Sam is a good brother. Gabriel got a phone call 9 years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Angst  
> \- Mentions of wrongful 'glorification' of self-harm
> 
> Oh. And I added some music that I listened to while writing the Dean part of this story. I stumbled upon it by pure chance while I was in the middle of writing this and thought it went very well with the chapter so... Here you go.  
> ([Trying not to love you - Nickleback](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHwHPCUQcUQ))
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**DOWN IN THE DARK HOLE**

* * *

"... _Don't you wish you could hold... The angel in the centerfold... The fantasy you couldn't control._.."

Dean stares at the phone in his hand. The display flashes a picture of him and Cas sitting on Cas' living room floor. Dean's arm slung around Cas' shoulder and vodka bottle in the other hand. Both of them have totally goofy grins on their faces and in front of them is a totally _awesome_ replica of Cas' house made of Lego. Sam took the picture on Cas' birthday party. Dean's heart clenches and he mutes the signal. He can imagine Cas' annoyed frown when he doesn't answer. How his lips press together to form a line of displeasure.

It's fucking agonizing, that's what it is.

Dean doesn't know how to handle it. This never-ending _longing_. So obviously Cas is thinking about him too. They talk on the phone occasionally and text each other and there's always an underlying current of flirtation but Dean can't bring himself to tell the guy how much he misses him and in spite of himself he ends up being shorter in his tone and colder in his replies. And then there's that displeased hum Cas makes every time Dean says anything dickish. It makes him cringe on the inside, wanting to beg for forgiveness and fucking grovel to make him take that little noise back. It makes Dean feel pathetic too, and that makes him angry. Angry at himself and angry at Cas for making him feel that way and of course, _of course_ , it makes him snap or be even more of a dick and just... fuck.

Yeah. He's fucking this up. 

He knows that, he just doesn't know _how. to. **stop**_. He feels so filled with regret, guilt, and shame after he’s been an asshole to Cas, and that guilt and shame makes it harder and harder to talk to him, so he finds himself unable to answer the phone when Cas calls and deleting his answers to texts instead of sending them. And then he feels even worse for not answering, which triples the guilt and makes it even harder to pick up the phone the next time Cas calls. Or call himself for that matter. And that only makes it hurt even more. He's basically blowing off the guy he is pining for. He tries to tell himself that this is just an insignificant little crush. It means nothing. It's a phase. It'll blow over.

Dean uncorks the whiskey bottle and swallows a couple of large mouthfuls. He doesn't bother screwing the cork back on, instead he throws it on the hotel room floor, leans his head back over the backrest of the armchair he's sitting in and closes his eyes. The whiskey burns comforting and warms him from within. It's a hollow comfort but it will replace the gloom with blessed oblivion in a while. It's a cursed blessing. He’s drunk himself into oblivion far too many times these last couple of weeks and for once he can relate to his dad. How distraught and sad dad was after he woke up from one of his episodes with no recollection of them, just to discover how badly he'd hurt Dean or sometimes Sammy. Dean used to feel nothing but contempt for him then. He used to think the remorse was just an elaborate lie. Now he is very certain it wasn't.

Dean has woken up a couple of mornings beside a random chick he has no recollection of picking up, and every time he's gone cold all over, sweat breaking out, and feeling all-encompassing disgust. Not for the girl, because, really, he's sure they're wonderful people and all, and they might have been cute or beautiful or whatever. But he doesn’t want them, he wants to wake up with Cas. Every time he wakes up with someone else his guilt and self-disgust reach levels beyond comprehension. One time, he even had to rush to the toilet and empty his gut because of nausea that had nothing to do with the hangover. He’s a cheating lowlife. Yeah, so he and Cas aren’t together but still... He feels like he has cheated and betrayed Cas and that makes it even harder to speak with him after that. 

Fuck.

He’s shooting himself in the foot. 

Emptying the mag, reloading and keeps shooting and he needs someone to come and yank the figurative gun out of his hand. To break him out of this downward spiral because he can't break it himself. He envies those who can allow themselves the luxury to put a knife to their skin and carve their inner pain into bleeding lines―convert it to physical pain, to something tangible you can see. But it's not his solution. Every scar on his body is inflicted by someone else. 

Sam’s good at this emotional stuff. He'd know what to do. Yet Dean can't bring himself to tell him. He’s _tried_. But his timing is off and Sam’s not amenable to listen when Dean tries to bring it up. Which, _of course,_ is his fault too because he's only tried to bring it up after picking a dickheaded fight with his brother, and while he’s being stared at with bitchface no.6 at maximum power.

In a desperate attempt to get Sam to understand while avoiding talking about it he had instead dropped all pretence of subtlety. 

He has switched his background picture of his phone to one of Cas, for Christ sake! Couldn't Sam just take the hint and bring it up so he doesn’t have to?!

And what if, after all this inner turmoil, Cas doesn’t really care? What if Dean’s just a simple flirt. A fun pastime, and now that Dean’s blowing him off he loses interest? 

Aw _fuck_!!!

He’s sinking into such a horrible headspace, tumbling faster and finding no handhold to stop the fall. He has been in this kind of spiral before. He doesn’t know how to break out of these free falls by himself. He needs something to do it for him. Something needs to change. He takes another hefty swig of whiskey. Willing it to numb out all the other emotions that swirl up. Because it isn't just about Cas. Once he hits this dark space in his mind a number of unwanted memories come crashing in. Old scars never quite healing. Echoes of his dad's contempt when he called Dean ' _useless_ ' bounced back and forth within his skull 'til he believed them. Things that he has done that there’s no forgiveness for. Hell, Cas wouldn't want to be stuck within a mile of him if he knew. Neither would Sammy. 

"Whatta Hell, Dean! Are you drinking again?!" 

Dean hasn't even heard Sam enter the hotel room. He doesn’t open his eyes or bother with a reply. Everything’s just so fucked up. He’s fucked up. There’s no light at the end of his tunnel.

"Great! First I gotta put up with Cas being a grumpy bastard and now you― ... _Dean_? ...Dean, are you crying? ... _Christ_!"

Then there's a strong set of arms encircling him, cradling him to a broad chest. Dean tries to push Sam off but finds he has no strength to do so. 

"I'm fine, Sam!" he says but his voice breaks.

He realises Sam’s right, he is crying. His shoulders are shaking, his eyes sting and his cheeks are wet. When did that happen?

"Hey, hey. It's okay, Dean. Just let it out. Let it out." Sam says, rocking him softly but keeping him firmly in his embrace, resisting Dean's feeble attempts to fight him off.

And just like that a dam breaks and he’s clinging to Sam instead. His body convulsing in big sobs and he’s probably getting snot and tears all over Sam's shirt, but right now he doesn't care. He bawls like a baby, years and years of withheld tears pouring out while Sam murmurs "It's okay. It's okay," over and over again into the side of his head. He has no concept of time, so he doesn't know how long they sit like that until the tears give way to an empty sort of feeling and only occasional sobs, and he’s able to breathe a little easier. He lets go of Sam's shirt and leans backwards, opening his eyes but not looking at Sam. Sam lets him go this time, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a roll of toilet paper and hands it to Dean who gratefully accepts and promptly blows his nose. He then looks up at Sam. Sam’s smiling, a soft affectionate smile with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Boy, was that long overdue," Sam states which makes a strangled noise between a sob and a laugh escape Dean.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I fucked up. Dad was right, I _am_ useless," he says and looks away.

Sam promptly crouches down in front of him, placing himself in his line of sight, forcing him to look at him.

"You know that isn't true, Dean. You're far from useless. And this was a good thing, okay? You needed this. Now, will you tell me what's going on?"

Dean looks away with a grimace.

"No," he says and takes another swig of whiskey from the bottle. More to rinse his mouth from saliva that has gone all sticky from the crying than to chase away sobriety. He takes a deep breath, still not looking at his brother he says; "I mean. I want to. I've tried to. But I can't. The words form in my head but they just won’t come out from my mouth. I'm no good at this feelings crap!"

Sam takes the bottle from him and takes a couple of gulps. Oddly enough that feels reassuring. "Okay. Let's try it this way. Is this about the girl?" he asks.

Dean scrunches his eyebrows in a confused frown and looks at Sam. "What girl?"

"The girl you're in love with. Your secret crush," Sam clarifies.

Dean let's out a humourless laugh and looks away again. "I'm not in lo― ... Yeah. It's partly about my secret crush. How'd you know?"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out, Dean. Your mood swings? You went from singing and floating on air to being a total jerk and drinking a liquor store almost every night. So what's the problem? She doesn't like you back? She's married?"

Dean can't bring himself to correct the gender in Sam's theory but he can see that he’s finally being given an opening to talk about Cas without having to out himself. He needs to talk. Obviously. He looks hesitantly at his brother crouching in front of him. Sam’s looking at him with sympathy and has an aura of calm patience. Alright. Man up.

"I... I don't know, Sam. Maybe this person likes me back. Maybe I'm just being played. And I'm friggin' scared to be burned again. So... We've been apart for a while and the longer we're apart the more uncertain I get about this person's feelings and because I'm an idiot I end up being a huge douchebag and fuck up... I've tried _not_ to think about h... this person, but it just gets worse!" It's hard to not let the wrong gender attribute slip out, but once he decides to go full out chick flick the words come tumbling. He has already bawled like a baby so how much worse can it get right?

"Have you tried talking to her?"

Dean makes a whimpering sound. "It's complicated, okay? There are reasons I don't wanna go into right now why I can't just..." Dean breaks off with a frustrated huff.

"Okay. So what else? You said it was partly because of your crush. What other reasons are there for your funk? Is it about your fighting with Cas?"

Dean feels ice churning in his stomach. "What fighting?"

Sam takes another swig of whiskey.

"Well... First, it was the fight in the alley when we were out together. I came back from hooking up and heard you yell at him, I rounded the corner and you had him pressed up against the wall, literally lifting him partway of the ground and looking ready to kill."

"I did _what_?! What did I say??" Dean says utterly horrified.

"I didn't hear much. You said you were going insane and that it was his fault and that was basically the extent of what I heard before I rounded the corner. Cas urged you to tell me what you were fighting about, but you didn't. Wanna fill me in now?"

Dean groans mournfully and buries his face in his hands. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse...

"No," he mumbles, muted by his hands.

"Okay. I didn't think it was that bad because in the cab home you were acting like friggin childhood besties so. ...But then you've been calling him when you're totally plastered and Cas has been extremely grumpy lately, so I figured whatever you were fighting about then is still an issue."

Dean's head snaps up. Eyes wide in horror.

"I've been _calling_ him?! What have I said?!!"

Sam shrugs and looks concerned.

"I don't know, Dean. I've mostly caught the tail end of the conversation and by the sound of it, Cas has urged you to go to bed and sober up. It hasn't really sounded like you were arguing but I have warned him that you get a bit... like you get when you're really drunk, and for him not to make too big a deal out of it since you're not likely to remember. I've figured it had to do with his sexuality because the only thing I've heard really well from those conversations was when you raised your voice telling him in very definite terms that you like girls."

Dean thinks he might cry again. This is too much!

 

_Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!_

 

"So you're telling me that when I'm drunk I've been calling Cas trying to convince him of how _straight_ I am?" Dean says, his voice sounds defeated.

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. Could've been just a one-time thing."

"This is _not_ happening." Dean buries his face in his hands again.

He feels Sam pat him on the knee but doesn't look up. As far as Dean is concerned, the best thing that could happen right now is if the ground just opens up underneath him and swallows him.

"Look... Dean. I..." Sam sounds hesitant. "I'm sorry, okay? ...I owe you an apology. I didn't realise in how much pain you were. And..." Sam takes a deep breath as if to steel himself. "And I've been a bit of a jerk to you too. I was mad at you. Over this whole Cas thing. I really like Cas so I've put all the blame on your fight on you. I don't want to lose him as a friend. He feels like family. But I don't know what's going on between you and maybe he's an asshole towards you when I'm not around? If so, I shouldn't put him before you..."

"No no no no," Dean says, head still buried in his hands. He blinks the sting out of his eyes and looks up. Sam’s sitting down on the floor in front of him, a hand on his knee still. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a mournful expression and he does the really concerned puppy-eyed face. "No, Sam. Cas has done nothing wrong. Cas is fucking _perfect_! Better than I deserve. I'm the screw up."

Sam looks relieved. And puzzled. Well, he can figure it out because Dean's not going to spell it out any clearer for him, at least not now.

"That's good," Sam says at last.

"What? How's that good?"

"Because Cas can't hold a grudge if his life depended on it. If you stop acting like an ass he'll come around. So if you're the one who has screwed up, it's salvageable." Sam smiles tentatively.

Dean snorts and smiles back at him, but it's without mirth.

He doesn't know how to salvage this. He doubts it's that easy. But it still feels good to have unloaded some of the burden. Fuck. What would he have done without Sam in his life? He'd be lost. He'd be nothing. And yeah. He can't be totally useless considering he has all but raised Sammy and Sam is fucking awesome!

He clings to that thought like a lifesaver in a stormy ocean. He has to. Sam has informed him that the Cas situation is _soo_ much worse than he thought. He has to let up with the drinking! Or at least...

"Sam. Could you take away my phone from me when I'm drunk?" he says tiredly. Feeling totally wrung out.

Sam laughs. "Dude. I can try. But you guard that thing as if it's a precious jewel or something." He grins.

Dean manages a weak laugh at that. "Yeah. No shit." Dean smiles. Should anyone go through his phone, he might as well draw a heart with Cas' name on in the middle of his forehead because then it'll be too obvious.

* * *

**GABRIEL 9 YEARS AGO**

* * *

The landline phone rings. Very few people have this number and even fewer ever use it. Gabriel frowns at the pink hello kitty phone, getting a bad feeling in his gut. He puts down the Weekly Weird News magazine he's been reading on the coffee table and gets up from the couch. Whoever is calling is refusing to hang up, the bad premonition increasing with every step he takes towards the phone. He answers and twirls the serpentine cord around a finger.

"Hello! You have reached The Pizza Man Home Delivery Service! How can..."

"Oh cut the crap, Gabriel!" Bobby's gruff voice interrupts him. "Is Dean still with you? Or has he gone back to the hospital." Bobby's tone is laced with worry. Gabriel's frown deepens.

"He's in the bathroom. Bucko wasn't really forthcoming with details, care to fill me in?" Gabe improvises. Dean has used him as an alibi before, but usually he'd call and give a heads up if he needed Gabe to vouch for his whereabouts. 

"Yeah, he sounded frantic last I spoke with him too. Sam was still in surgery then, and now I can't get hold of him. Can't get a hold of John either and those damned clowns at the hospital won't tell me anything since I'm not a blood relative! Since Dean is there you probably know as much as I do."

Crap! This is not good. The kid was a loose cannon to start with, and if something bad has happened to Sam...

"Like I said. Not forthcoming with details. Blubbering about Sam and then deciding to repaint the inside of the toilet with the content of his belly. All I really got out of him was 'Sammy'. So if you've got more - spill," Gabe chances.

" _Balls_!" Bobby curses. "I'm stuck in a damned traffic jam on the interstate just because some idjit decided to plow into a dozen of cars on his way home, while Sam's in surgery!" Bobby complains in frustration and takes a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay, so Dean called me about an hour ago and told me Sam had been in an accident. Apparently he had climbed too high in a tree and fallen, gettin' bashed up pretty badly in the fall and injuring his head. He was in surgery to relieve pressure on his brain, it was still uncertain if he was gonna make it. Dean told me he was gonna get you when I couldn't come at once."

"A tree, huh?" he keeps the scepticism out of his tone, if not his words.

"Well, boys will be boys." 

Except Sam isn’t a boy, he’s a bookworm. 

"We're heading back to the hospital as soon as Deano is done redecorating my bathroom. I'll call you as soon as there’s any news."

"Thanks, Gabe. Talk to ya later then."

"Sure. Bye, Bobby." 

After he's hung up, Gabe squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. This is so not good. Sam and Dean may have perfected lying to everybody including Bobby about their occasional bruises and cuts, but Gabe knows the full extent of what’s going on in the Winchester household. He'd learned that when Dean broke their agreement one day and didn't show up for practise. Gabe had gone over there. When nobody opened the door he'd simply picked the lock and waltzed right in. He'd found Dean and John in full battle in the master bedroom at the top floor, Sam covering in a corner with a bruise across the cheek. When John was subdued Gabe had taken the boys to his place. He'd managed to get the boys to talk by getting Dean drunk (because the kid was a 15 years old stubborn clam who would not spill even when he was caught in the act, unless he had a substantial quantity of alcohol diluting his blood) and Sam cocoa. Once Dean started talking Sam followed his big brother's lead. It was not a pretty picture they painted. And this year it had gotten worse. Dean's anger increased and John had become sicker. Bobby might think both boys are wild at heart, climbing trees and playing rough. But Sam isn't. It’s just part of their cover story. So Gabe suspects that no trees are involved in this 'accident' at all.

_Crap_.

He has to find Dean!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment. :)


	36. Rule No 1: Never get into a car with a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23 March 7 years ago Sam spots somebody familiar outside of his school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Note:  
> Okay so Sam hasn't turned 14 just yet, he does so May the second. If he seems less eloquent than he is today it's because he's a young teen. And a non-relevant side note to that. I don't know if you've noticed that but when Dean and Sam are alone they also speak much less proper, falling into a familiar pattern.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**23 March 7 YEARS AGO**

* * *

There's a light breeze with an icy bite outside. It stings his cheeks as he descends the stairs from the school building, along with the other students whose school day just has ended. There's still snow outside, crusted and hard, frozen to stony edges, although most of the schoolyard is laid bare. The schoolyard is surrounded by a tall chain-link fence and Sam thinks he sees someone familiar leaning against it when he’s distracted by the smoking hot girl sliding her arms around his waist and kissing him, making him let go of his bag. She has long blond hair, soft lips and grey-blue eyes full of challenge and temptation. Today she’s wearing a short tight leather jacket, jeans that could have been painted onto her, and a red tank top showing off cleavage. Her body had developed early and she had been one of the girls all the boys lusted for since she was twelve.

They aren't together per se, and Sam’s not in love with her or anything. But she’s really fun to hang around with and as a horny teenager, he isn’t going to deny her when she offers him a spontaneous make-out session. Ruby’s her name. She hadn't given him the time of day until he'd kicked the ass of those three jocks and then bold as, well, bold as Dean actually, had come on to her at the party afterwards.

Sam's school life had taken an instant turn to the better after that. He’s no longer known as 'Dean Winchester's little brother', now he’s simply known as 'Sam Winchester'. Respected by the nerdy kids for his devotion to school and his intelligence, accepted by the trouble-making cool kids for being friends with benefits with Ruby. And since Gabe gave him his team jacket early upon hearing of the demise of his former jacket, he’s seen as an equal by the jocks. He’s invited to parties and welcomed to sit with basically anyone in the cafeteria. Yet he never feels like he belongs. It’s still good, though.

Ruby breaks the kiss and looks up at him with a teasing smirk.

"You wanna hang out?" she asks in a manner that suggests that second base is on the menu if he says yes.

He smiles. "I can't. Got a couple of tests coming up. I gotta study."

She rolls her eyes and huffs in exasperation.

"You're blowing me off for books again, Sam?" She pouts.

Before he can answer she buries her head by the crook of his neck and starts kissing, hand sliding under the jacket up on the small of his back. He’s about to close his eyes and enjoy it when his gaze accidentally wanders over to the vaguely familiar figure leaning on the fence. His heart rate shoots up and he feels a surge of anticipation. Dressed in a black down winter jacket, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder against the fence and legs crossed by the ankles, arrogant smirk on his lips, Lucifer is watching him.

Sam gives Ruby a light shove to make her back off, then hooks his fingers into her belt loops. She looks up, clearly surprised.

"I'm sorry, Rube. Maybe another time," he says with an apologetic look.

She looks miffed. "We'll see about that," she says, annoyance at being rejected clear in her voice.

Knowing Lucifer’s watching makes him cockier than he feels. He tugs her closer by the belt loops and bends down to kiss her, his tongue sliding in between her lips and meeting no resistance. It's not a long kiss before he breaks it and looks down at her with a smirk.

"I _said_ \- another time," he says. Trying to sound as confident as his big brother.

"Ooo. _Bossy_. I like that! Okay, Winchester. But you're gunna have to make it up to me for ditching me for books," she says with a seductive smile and a sharp glint in her eyes before she frees herself of his hold and walks away, her hips swaying. He watches her go almost giddily. It worked! He wants to fist pump in celebration. At the gates, she throws a look over her shoulder, sees him looking and throws him a wink before she walks out.

He looks around to see if anyone he knows is watching, but the schoolyard is emptying and none of his friends are in the vicinity. When he deems the coast to be clear, he picks up his bag and walks towards where Lucifer is standing, unable to withhold a grin. Lucifer turns and hooks his fingers in the fence above either side of his head, leaning forward, one leg bent in front of him and one straight back in line with his body. He's holding his weight up with his hands. As Sam approaches his smirk gets wider, pleased but without surprise.

"Hey, Morningstar! Wasn't sure I'd see you again," Sam says, stopping one and a half meters away. Suddenly shy and unsure, trying to look like he feels relaxed.

"I told you we would, Sammy, did I not?" Lucifer answers with a lazy drawl.

Sam fights the grin that threatens to split his face again. Elation warring with fear inside him. "Yeah. You did, but..." Sam begins but trails off. Unsure of what to say.

Lucifer tilts his head a little, purses his lips and hums. Sam has absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. He’s being carefully studied by those ice blue eyes under heavy lids. Sam can't calm his rapid pulse. All he’s able to do is wait and see what will happen next. The cold wind stings his cheeks and ears, ruffles his hair and had he not been so distracted, he'd be cursing himself for forgetting his beanie at home.

Then Lucifer does something with one of his hands and all of the sudden he is holding a 50 dollar bill in it, poking through the wire net. Sam looks at it. One part of him feels triumphant. It means that he no longer owes Lucifer money and that he had been right in his convictions about Dean's loyalty. At the same time, there's a sting of disappointment he can't really explain. It means there's no longer any excuse for Lucifer to seek him out. He is looking at the bill but not making any move to step forward to take it until Lucifer twitches the fingers with the bill, making it dance like a lure.

Sam drops his bag on the ground and walks up to the fence. Lucifer's eyes don't leave him, the barest hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips. Sam looks at the bill and reaches out to take it but when he does, Lucifer doesn't let go. Sam's eyes snap to his, heart pounding. Lucifer still doesn't say anything. On a whim Sam lets go of the bill and hooks his fingers on top of Lucifer's cold fingers, pressing his still warm palm over what he can reach of Lucifer's fingers. A gesture to mimic Lucifer warming his hands at the café. Lucifer's smirk turns more defined and while the difference is minuscule his expression suddenly seems smug.

_What the Hell am I doing?!!_

"Was that the girl?" Lucifer asks and gestures with his head at the gate Ruby walked through a moment ago.

"Um. Yeah," Sam answers with a little smile. Since Lucifer doesn’t make a big deal about it he hooks his other hand on top of the hand not holding the bill too.

"Hardly out of your league, Sammy," Lucifer chides, not acknowledging Sam's touch and thus making Sam relax a bit.

"Dude. She's like, one of the most popular girls at school!" Sam grins.

Lucifer hums and turns his head and looks at the gates with a thoughtful expression before he turns his attention back to Sam. "So you like your girls dangerous?"

"What? Ruby is not dangerous," Sam says perplexed. "I mean. She's a bit wild, sure. But not _dangerous_."

Lucifer snorts. "She will be. That girl has trouble written all over her. When she offers you drugs you say no, is that clear?"

Sam chuckles. "She's not gunna... I mean. Yeah, okay," he answers with a bemused smile and steps a little closer to the fence without realising it.

Lucifer hums, looking down at him, time stretches a bit more than comfortable but Sam waits. Then Lucifer wriggles his fingers holding the bill under Sam's hand and the bill is firmly wedged between Sam's fingers, no longer withheld. Once again silence stretches and those unreadable eyes study him. Sam holds still.

God knows why, but he’s curious about what will happen next.

"My car is around the corner. You coming?" Lucifer asks then.

"I've got homework," Sam answers promptly.

"That's not what I asked, Sammy."

Damn. If his heart would just slow down a notch. He should be scared. Well, he is. But anticipation and excitement override it. This whole thing goes against everything he's taught. He himself is acting out of character with Lucifer, he knows that. But there's this feeling of suspense in the man's presence and something else too, that he can't put his finger on.

"I... um. Yeah... Yeah, I'm coming."

Lucifer smiles smugly and pushes himself off the fence. He starts walking without looking back to see if Sam follows, so Sam picks up his bag and then has to jog to get to the gate. Lucifer rounds the corner and disappears out of sight just as Sam is out of the schoolyard. Sam picks up his pace and spurts the last stretch, afraid Lucifer will go without him if he isn't there by the time Luci gets to the car.

He rounds the corner to see Lucifer slip into a nondescript red car and open the door on the passenger side from the inside. Sam slips inside just as Lucifer starts up the engine. He drops his bag in the footwell, pockets the 50 dollar bill and closes the door and then proceeds to buckle the seat belt. Lucifer starts driving, watching the road.

"Aren't you a little old for children's books, Sammy?" he says.

"What?" Sam asks, confused.

"The book in Russian you were carrying in the café last time we met," Lucifer clarifies.

"Oh." Sam's face splits up into a big grin. "Yeah. No. I use it when I learn a new language. Dean used to read 'The Crow and the Pitcher' to me when I was little. It was one of my favourite stories, one of Aesop's Fables. Since I know it so well I get the book in the language I'm learning to make it easier to catch up on the language."

"Why Russian?"

"'M kinda fascinated by the phonetic alphabet they use. You just have to know how to pronounce the letters to be able to read aloud, even if you don't understand the words. And I like languages. I want to learn more of 'em."

"You know any other languages besides English?" Lucifer’s watching the traffic but he gives off the impression to be listening intently.

"Yeah. French. Started with that when I was 10. They wouldn't help me with it in school. Said I had to wait 'til I got older. Dean threw a bitch fit and then in secret got himself one of those tapes where you listen and parrot what they say so he could help teach me. Plus he got books and stuff. Then on my birthday, he gave me study materials and revealed he had taught himself the basics. After that, we would practise it together. At least one hour a day we would speak nothing but French even if we weren't actually studying at the time." Sam snorts a little laugh at the memory. "T'was kinda fun actually. We'd argue about the remote or I'd help him cook or whatever. In the beginning, there was a lot of misunderstandings because our vocabulary wasn't good enough, now we're both pretty fluent. He was the one to buy 'The Crow and the Pitcher' in French for me."

Lucifer has raised his eyebrows looking impressed. "Pretty unexpected for a guy who dropped out of school the day after he turned 16."

Sam scoffs.

"If you really knew him, you wouldn't be surprised. He's really smart! He dropped out because of... other reasons." Sam can't help the offended tone in his voice, but the tail end of the last sentence is mumbled and he looks out of the window on familiar streets. He wonders why he's telling Lucifer all this. He’s usually much more reserved. It was the café all over again. Lucifer told him to talk and he did. While Lucifer gave away practically nothing about himself. He can't even read the guy. Except for the arrogance and taunting smirks. He exudes laid-back power. Like a black panther at rest. There's a coldness in his eyes and a calm that'd come from not needing to be afraid in dangerous situations. Sam should really just stay as far away from this man as possible. But he is drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"Is he learning Russian too?"

"No."

"Why is 'The Crow and the Pitcher' your favourite?"

"Um. The story is about a crow that’s thirsty and finds a pitcher with water but he can't reach the water cuz his beak is too short and he's not strong enough to tip the pitcher over. So he drops pebbles into the pitcher until the water level is high enough to reach. And, um. I like it because it's about not giving up, that you can do seemingly impossible things if you use your mind," he explains and looks at Lucifer with a tentative smile, feeling oddly shy about this.

Then the car stops, engine cut, and Sam realises they have parked opposite the apartment where he and Dean moved in, less than a week ago. Sam's pulse shoots skyward again and he turns to peer suspiciously at Lucifer who’s looking at him with some kind of pleased fondness Sam doesn't get.

"Are you some kind of creepy stalker, or what?" Sam ask.

Lucifer chuckles. " _Awww_. Look at you. The pot calling the kettle black. That's sweet," Lucifer says in a mocking tone. Expression teasing.

"What?" Sam's face scrunches up in sceptical confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lucifer has turned his whole upper body in Sam's direction now. One elbow resting on the steering wheel and one on the backrest of his seat.

"You think I wouldn't find out? You've come to see me play in two home games now, Sammy."

Sam's face is suddenly aflame with embarrassment. Shit. In his head, he’s frantically searching for a viable excuse. But there’s no reason whatsoever for him to go see the Angels play. None. And anyway, he’s certain Lucifer would see the lie for what it was. He _had_ gone there to see Lucifer. Dude’s strange and thoughts about the man have nagged at Sam since the game when they first spoke. "I shouldn't be here," he says and promptly looks away.

"You shouldn't," Lucifer agrees, an amused lilt to his voice.

_Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out,_ his head is screaming at him. His hand is on the door handle but Sam can't make himself open it.

Suddenly he feels two fingers on the side of his neck and he looks at Lucifer through the corner of his eyes. Lucifer’s smiling, close-lipped. But it's not his usual smirk. It looks like he is holding back excitement, he looks kinda happy. Sam's pulse speeds up even more and then he realises that the two fingers pressed against the side of his neck are feeling his pulse. That adds to his embarrassment even more.

He turns his head and glares at Lucifer. Lucifer sniggers and flicks his eyes to where Sam's hand is gripping the door handle.

"The door isn’t locked, Sammy." Lucifer's tone is ribbing.

Sam, opposite to what he _ought_ to do, lets go of the door handle and crosses his arms over his chest.

"It's _Sam_!" Annoyance obvious in his voice. He hates that Lucifer puts him on the spot like he did by calling him out on his curiosity about the man. He doesn’t want to be made fun of over it since he can't explain it himself and by all outward appearances, it's wrong.

Lucifer starts the car and looks at Sam for a moment, pursing his lips. Sam doesn't move. He should be getting out. He should. But he doesn't. Luci hums thoughtfully and then puts the car into gear. He turns his attention towards the road again as they drive off. This time exceeding the speed limits. Sam relaxes against better judgement.

"So... You and your brother lived with a Bobby Singer. But you moved. Tell me about that," Lucifer says conversationally.

"Um... Yeah. Uncle Bobby, he, um, he isn't our real uncle. We moved in with him when our house burnt down and dad died in the fire. But the authorities deemed him unfit to be our legal guardian for some reason. They wanted to split me and Dean up. Gabe, that's Dean's coach, has been paying for lawyers to stall. Then when my brother turned 18 they approved him as my legal guardian, him being my only living relative and all. And probably to get the lawyers off their back too." Sam grins about that last part.

"That doesn't prompt a move," Lucifer says and throws a look at Sam, looking surprisingly candid in his interest.

It makes Sam relax further and smile. He scratches an ear distractedly before he answers. "Yeah, I know. But I dunno... Bobby's great. He is! But... There are... things... that has happened, that we... We need to hide from him. It's like. I dunno. It's better when it's just us. We can be ourselves and don't need to watch what we say. 'Ts better. I mean. T'was always just us in one way or another anyway."

Lucifer hums thoughtfully. Sam likes that he is able to start picking up personal qualities and behaviour that the older man has. Like that humming he does when he reflects on the information he is given. Or the way he tilts his head backwards and a little to the side, to look at you from under heavy lids and down his nose. He moves in a laidback, arrogant manner, slouches a bit when he sits, often taking up lots of space.

"And this Bobby character, he just let you move out?"

Sam laughs at that, thinking of the arguments the brothers' move had caused before it became reality.

"Hardly! I still have to stay at Bobby's when Dean's out of town. But Dean is a force of nature when he makes up his mind about something." Sam can't keep his admiration out of his voice when he talks about his brother.

"Not your regular pawn then," Lucifer mutters quietly, seemingly to himself.

They pass the town limits and Lucifer steps on the gas. They drive in silence for a couple of minutes before Lucifer slows down and turns on to a small road, straight into the woods. It’s hardly visible under the crusted snow and from the main road it had looked like nothing more than a slightly larger gap between the trees. Sam has no idea where they are going. He should rightfully be scared shitless. Nobody knows where he is. He got into a car with a stranger and is getting deeper into the woods on a road that can't really be seen from the main road. Should anything happen to him here no one would find his body for months probably.

The road comes to an abrupt stop. Lucifer kills the engine, pockets the keys and turns his body to look at Sam, one elbow on the backrest. He is smirking slightly and there's a sharp gleam in his icy blue eyes. Sam's mouth has gone dry and he tries to swallow. Silence drags out to an eternity or a minute, he doesn't know, he just waits to see what will happen next.

Then Lucifer's lips turn into a downward curve, his eyebrows raise and he nods like he's impressed. "You don't scare easily, now do you, Sammy?" The way he says it makes it a rhetorical question, Sam just shrugs one shoulder in response.

"Look. Are you gunna. I dunno. Try to kiss me and stuff?" Sam asks making a sceptical grimace.

Lucifer laughs that kind of laugh that is a series of short exhales, his face expression tells that he thinks the very idea to be very amusing, eyes twinkling with mirth. He shakes his head. Then he looks contemplative for a beat, like he’s struck by a thought. A troubled wrinkle appears between his eyes. "Is that something you need from me, Sam?" he asks.

"What?! No! I mean. No. I just... _Look_. This is just messed up. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. You're strange and I just, you know, I'm not sure what this is," Sam flusters and gestures awkwardly between them with a hand.

Lucifer chuckles, amusement once again visible on his face. He reaches out a hand and touches Sam's face. Sam tenses up but makes no move to evade or stop him. Lucifer's fingers are warm. The touch is a slow lingering caress with the fingertips, light and almost reverent in its nature. It starts from the temple, down on the cheek and then follows his jawline.

Then Lucifer bends down and picks up Sam's bag from the footwell. He opens the car door, gets out of the car and starts walking into the woods. Sam’s left reeling, the touch still lingering like ghost fingers on his cheek. He hurries out of the car, slams the door and jogs after Lucifer and his bag that Lucifer now carries slung over a shoulder. Sam can't see a trail and the snow crust is so hard here that none of them sink through to leave footprints.

They come upon a little clearing with a small hunting cabin in the middle. The door is unlocked and Lucifer steps through it and flicks on the light, Sam hot on his heels. Sam closes the door after himself then looks around. It's just one room with a small kitchenette. Two beds with a fireplace in between them, a table and two chairs. Lucifer dumps Sam's bag unceremoniously by the table and then goes to the kitchenette, filling a water cooker and putting it on.

"There's no milk or sugar. Would you prefer coffee or tea?"

"Coffee. Do you live here?" Sam says and goes to sit at the table.

"Nope," Lucifer answers while he takes two cups and a jar of nescafé from a cupboard and two spoons from a drawer. He certainly moves with familiarity here, even if he doesn't live here. He puts the stuff down on the table and goes to retrieve the water that is now boiling.

Sam scoops two teaspoons of nescafé in his cup and stirs once Lucifer has filled it with water. He takes a sip while Lucifer sits down and prepares his own coffee.

"Ну так и что вам задали на дом?" Lucifer then asks in perfect Russian. ( _So what homework do you have?_ )

Sam's eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. "Ты из России?" he answers in much more shaky Russian. ( _Are you from Russia_?)

"Нет. Но ты сказал, что тебе нужно делать домашку, а твой брат не говорит по-русски. Вот я и подумал, что ты, возможно, захочешь с кем-нибудь попрактиковаться. Так почему не убить двух зайцев одним выстрелом?" Lucifer says with a wink and a self-satisfied smile. ( _No. But you said you had to do homework and your brother doesn't speak Russian so I figured you might want to practise with somebody. Why not kill two birds with one stone_?)

While Sam doesn't get all words he still beams like a sun towards Lucifer, feeling absolutely overjoyed. "Спасибо! Это просто здорово!" he says and digs up his books out of the bag. ( _Thank you! That's great_!)

Lucifer turns out to be both a patient teacher and an awful dick at the same time. He corrects everything Sam says wrong and lets Sam struggle to find the right word. If Sam can't find the word he's searching for Lucifer writes down guesses for what Sam is trying to say in English in one of Sam's notebooks. If it's correct he'll say the word in Russian and write down the translated word beside the English. Which is great. Really. But Lucifer doesn't let down the taunting and the ribbing which makes him a dick.

It all goes well though. Sam refills his cup three times before he’s finished with the homework. Lucifer busies himself with reading every scrap of paper Sam has in his bag along with skimming through the books. Now and then he will touch Sam on the hands, neck or face. Each touch is a treasure. They feel extremely intimate to Sam but not at all like he is being pawed in some dirty way. Sam does not acknowledge them, afraid that if he says something about it Lucifer will stop.

It's dark when Lucifer switches back to English. "Why did you keep your phone on silent?"

**Shit!** He hadn't remembered to switch back after classes. He usually doesn't until he leaves the schoolyard. Today he'd been too distracted.

Lucifer laughs, amused by his horrified expression.

"Forgot, huh?"

"Shit. Yeah. How did you even know?"

"It's getting late and from everything you've told me about your brother, he would be worried by now. He would have called."

Sam digs up his phone from his pocket and looks at it. 6 missed calls and two texts from Dean. It's almost 9 PM. Fucking Hell!

Lucifer sniggers.

"Crap! Yeah real funny." Sam glares at Lucifer's mirth. "He's gunna kill me! What am I gunna tell him?"

Lucifer shrugs in response. "We'd better get going," he says and squeezes Sam's shoulder.

The drive home goes pretty much the same way as before, Sam talking, being a bit more forthcoming about himself than he usually is. When they park outside the apartment Sam’s reluctant to go. He suddenly feels panicked that this is the last time they'll meet.

"Will I see you again?" he asks, feeling nervous. He swallows under Lucifer's scrutinization.

"Do you want to?"

Sam nods.

"In that case, you will."

"When?"

Lucifer shrugs like it doesn't matter.

Sam moves to get out of the car but a hand grips his wrist like a vice. Hard, bordering on painful. Sam sits back and looks at Lucifer. Lucifer has a hard look on his face. Dark, possessive. It melts off almost as soon as Sam settles back in the seat and waits. But it makes Sam's pulse shoot through the roof and his breathing come in shorter bursts. It reminds him that he is, by his own free will, putting himself in a potentially very dangerous situation. Even though this is the first time Lucifer has actually used force to change Sam's actions.

Lucifer loosens the grip slightly. It's still firm, but no longer bordering on painful. Lucifer's other hand comes up to stroke his face again. Sam closes his eyes. He focuses intently on the touch. It calms him down when it should do the opposite. Lucifer smooths a palm over Sam's hair and feels out every feature of Sam's face with soft fingers. Sam lets it happen. For some reason he can't explain, he leans his head into Lucifer's palm. The hand stills except for the thumb that continues caressing softly against his cheekbone and brow. Sam opens his eyes. Lucifer's expression is serene and soft, tinted with a feeling of a smile that you can't see.  
Lucifer then lets go of Sam with both his hands. He says; "Ruby," and nothing more.

"What?"

But Lucifer doesn't answer. He simply turns away and looks out the window. A clear dismissal just like the last time, ignoring any further interaction with Sam. This time Sam knows better than to stay and try to get an answer. He gets out of the car and jogs over the street. The elevator is broken so he jogs up the stairs mulling over what the Hell Lucifer meant by that. There’s no context and Sam doesn't get it.

When he fumbles with the key in the lock the door is yanked open from within by a frantic, pissed off Dean.

"Where the _**FUCK** _ have you been!?!" he yells.

Sam says the first thing that pops into his head.

"Ruby."

That's when he gets it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual - I live for your comments. :)
> 
> Oh. And please tell me, should I add the tag "Underage" for what goes on in this chapter? And if so, is it because of Sam/Ruby or Sam/Lucifer? I have not tagged it as underage since it's not very sexual.


	37. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas discovers something that displeases him. Sam noticed something he has trouble believing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**WORKING TOGETHER**

* * *

Cas has his knees propped up against the back of the seat in front of him and a laptop open, wedged between his thighs and his chest. He has both seats to himself. Lucifer sits on the double seat on the other side of the aisle, notebook and pen in hand. In front of them in the bus the rest of the team is scattered, talking and generally being in good spirits. Balt, Alfie, Zack and Gadreel sit in the seats in front of them, Balt being the entertainer as usual.

Cas ignores them, intent on reading and scrolling down as he is.

"Cal Hawkins has been seen frequenting a number of strip clubs. Rumour has it his marriage is falling apart," he says and Luci jots it down in the notebook.

Cas is looking through the sports equivalent of Hollywood gossip sites. He's searching for gossip about hockey players in their own division. This is a routine they have developed to pass the time during boring bus trips. Technically, they can of course do all this by themselves. Lucifer is adept at reading gossip sites and plot stuff down by himself, having done so for many years. Cas can too. But this is companionable in a way that makes both of them very content when they do this, and by extension - so is the rest of the team.

By now no one questions Cas as second in command. And Luci listens to Cas, often acting upon his suggestions. Any time he tries to make Cas make the actual decisions concerning the team, though, Cas freaks out. (Meaning a little muscle starts twitching by his left eye and he becomes indecisive, prone to change his mind. But with Cas that equals running around screaming in panic, so, you know, not good.) All the confidence he has in taking responsibility for himself vaporize when he has to be responsible for others. Luci has given up on trying to force him. In return Cas wants none of the credit for any of his ideas or strategies, content in reinforcing Lucifer's leadership.

Raphael still carries weight among the rest of the team, but since Michael left and Cas joined the team, Luci has step by step outmanoeuvred him, making him no more than window dressing where real power is concerned. Raphael is the only one who knows Lucifer's real affiliation. What he doesn't know, though, is Luci's rank. He thinks Luci is a pawn, nothing but a henchman. If he knew the true nature of Luci's identity he'd probably flee the country. Luci’s content to have it that way. As it is right now, Raphael at least challenges him now and then and that's amusing.

Luci reaches out across the aisle and touches Cas' cheekbone with the tip of three fingers briefly before retracting his arm again. It's just a gentle push really. Cas looks up and meets his eyes questioningly. They have one of their silent conversations that has become part of their standard way of communicating. Subtle shift in expressions that few pick up on.

 

_Did you want something?_

_No, I just appreciate you and this particular moment._

_Ah. Me too._

 

Cas has the tiniest hint of a smile when he turns his attention back to the laptop again.

These silent conversations are common amongst any people with strong emotional bonds. Best friends, lovers, family, and mentally or physically disabled people with their assistants. The peculiar thing is that this level of unspoken rapport is something Luci never had this fully with any of his siblings, despite how close they were when they grew up. Not even with Mikey, as close as they were. Luci thinks Cas understands him surprisingly well. The title 'Little Brother' is more apt than he ever suspected when he chose to bestow it on him.

"Lester Morris has proposed to his girlfriend. She's believed to be pregnant already."

Luci dutifully jots that down too.

* * *

When warm fingers press briefly against his cheekbone Cas is startled. He looks up to find Luci looking at him with a serene expression. There's a softness around his eyes and the look in them is not as distant as usual, which in Cas' book means that this is Luci's version of one of Sam's impromptu hugs, purposed only to show affection. Warmth blooms in Cas' chest and he's certain it translates on his features before he turns back to his research. It's funny how such a little touch can convey so much. It means just as much to Cas as one of Father's rare touches used to do, but unlike those, Luci's affection isn’t something you have to earn by winning. No, his affection Cas earns just by being himself. These little nothing-touches had started rather recently, about the same time Luci had amped up the tests he put Cas through. Cas knows they are tests, and he doesn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoys them, even when it’s simple things like getting a phone number from somebody openly hostile. He doesn’t particularly care for _why_ Luci does them, but it does bring the two of them closer together and that's when these small little touches to the face or the back of the hand started. Brief and with just the tips of a finger or three, given at no particular moment.

Balt had noted, thinking it strange. He’s asked Cas what that was about, one morning when Cas was sulking over his coffee (It was _too_ early!) and Luci walked by, pressed two fingers to the back of Cas hand for about two seconds and then went about his business. Cas interpreted the action as if Luci had chirped ' _Good morning, little brother!_ ' with an affectionate ruffle of his hair. (Of course, the bloody bastard will actually ruffle his hair on occasion which he should _stop_ doing or Cas will end up taking a swing one of these days. But that is a teasing action unlike the finger thing.) Cas could have told Balt what it meant. He could have, but it was **too bloody _early_** and ' _Why are you even talking to me before 7 AM, Balt?!_ ' So the whole thing remained mysterious to those that noticed. It doesn’t matter. Cas instinctively knows and _that’s_ what matters.

Cas likes this. Working together seamlessly, doing mundane things like now or the fast paced interaction on the ice. He can discern with a look what Luci wants from him. Meg and he had that kind of connection too. It had been hard earned, not come as naturally as this but been just as rewarding. All those times Father had prohibited him from talking had made him ultra aware of people's small gestures. And him not being able to express himself during long practise hours with Meg, had made her as attuned to him as he was to her. He still misses her on occasion. Fond memories flow back to him of who she was in private when her cold sarcasm melted away. The secret smile she had reserved just for him. Those memories are no longer painful. It feels like he finally had gotten some kind of closure. Memories of Father, though... That’s the strange part. He’d worshipped and adored his father. Now... Now when he thinks of his father he feels a bit like he’s been betrayed. The Winchesters, Luci, even Balt and some of the others in the team have given him a sense of family that he hasn't even been aware he was missing. And there’s a creeping anger in him, towards Father for withholding it.

Cas scrolls down and skims through articles about baseball players, soccer players, tennis players. Finding nothing else hockey related he switches site.

* * *

"Bloody promiscuous twat!" Cas hisses suddenly and slams the laptop shut with a frustrated expression marring his face. "I _hate_ the media!" He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head to glare out of the window in a full on sulk.

The guys closest to him all stop talking and look at him with concerned puzzlement at the sudden outburst. Alfie reaches over the back of his seat, takes the laptop from Cas and opens it to see what caused it. He whistles on an inhale and does a sympathetic grimace.

" _Well_? What is it? Share with the class," Balt prompts.

Alfie reads the headline aloud.

" **Demon Dean on the Prowl**." and then he turns the laptop around so everyone can see. A short article and a couple of recent photographs of Dean making out with different girls.

"Ouch. Your boyfriend can't keep it in his pants for very long, now can he?" Zack says, distaste clear in his voice.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend!" Cas growls, turning his head back to the others with a scowl. "If he was, he wouldn't be doing - _that_!" He gestures towards the laptop with a jerk of his chin.

Luci sniggers.

"What happened? I thought you guys talked almost every day?" Gadreel asks, much more sympathetic than Luci, obviously.

Cas exhales with a frustrated sound and rubs his hands over his face.

"He's been avoiding me or been a total assbutt when we talk. Except he calls me when he's too drunk to remember what he says, the day after, and during _those_ calls he's all lovey dovey and says he misses me and thinks of me. It's madness! _Nothing_ I say then will be remembered so it's useless. It's driving me _insane_!"

"You should call him and tell him he can't be doing that―" Gadreel starts but Cas breaks him off.

"No. I told you. He's going to be _mine_!"

"Yes but―" This time it's Lucifer that interrupts Gadreel.

"What my little brother is trying to say is that if he has to guard Dean's fidelity, then Dean isn't really his. Winchester must want to be with him to the extent that he himself finds it impossible to bear the thought of being with someone else. Isn't that right, Cassie?"

Cas facial features has smoothed out and he's now looking mostly curious at Luci. He nods.

"That makes sense I suppose." Gadreel concedes thoughtfully.

"So. What are we going to do about this?" Alfie asks.

"There are two ways we can fix this," Luci says. "Either Cassie can ignore it when Dean is being an _assbutt_ ," his lips quirk upward when he says that word, "and smooth talk Dean, telling him exactly how he feels and what he wants. Dean’s obviously interested since he keeps calling when he loses his inhibitions with the help of alcohol. If Cassie’s totally open, Dean will be more at ease with his own feelings and he will at this stage come around fairly quickly."

Cas and the guys mull this over. Lucifer gives them a little moment before he continues. A gloating smirk spreading on his lips.

"... _Or_. We can turn Dean into the hunter instead. Put some gasoline on the fire."

Cas perks up at that. "What do you have in mind?"

"You have no qualms about coming out in public right?"

Cas raises a sceptical eyebrow and snorts. "I was never 'in' to begin with," he answers dryly, making air quotes.

"Balt, didn't you have contacts in Hollywood?" Luci asks, relying upon some of Balt's stories actually being true.

"Oh, definitely!" Balt grins, as curious as the rest of them as to where this is leading.

"Good. Cassie, from now on media is your best friend. Now this is the plan..." Luci tells them, wearing his best up-to-no-good grin.

* * *

**UNEXPECTED REACTIONS**

* * *

_Incoming message..._

 

 **Cas 21:40 PM:** [ _Picture included:_ Cas is lying on the floor next to a drawing, only his head and shoulders are showing. He's red cheeked and sweating, not wearing a shirt. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his eyelids are heavy and he has a lazy content smile playing on his lips and in between them he has a wet shiny pink lollipop, his tongue visibly resting against it. The drawing beside his face is made by a kid. It's a hockey player with green eyes in a red jersey with number 13 on it, holding a hockey stick, sporting fangs and gold crayon used for the hair. 0-6 is written on the drawing, as well as 'Dean' and an arrow pointing at the hockey player. The text message attached to the picture reads; " _Give me a good valid reason._.."]

 

Dean's heart speeds up as he looks at the picture. They still send taunts to each other in connection to games, but he can't for his life figure out how this is a taunt. Cas looks utterly fucked out. Of course he’s just come off the ice after his first game since the injury, so that he's red cheeked and tired has a natural explanation. Still, the picture spark fantasies in Dean's mind that makes his cock stir slightly. But the text message is totally baffling and has no context. It tickles the back of his mind, ringing familiar somehow but the memory eludes him. The way Cas’ shoulders are relaxed indicates that the picture is taken by somebody else. He stares at it for a good solid five minutes, unsure how to answer. Anything he can think of is filthy. Finally, he taps out an evading answer, focussing on the drawing instead.

 **Dean Winchester 21:45 PM** : _What's with the fangs?_

 **Cas 21:46 PM** : _We're in windy coast. I asked Uriel's son to draw you, but no matter how valid my arguments were, I could not convince a six year old that freckles are the height of coolness, so he opted for fangs instead._

Dean chuckles. He would have loved to hear that argument. He remembers hating his own freckles as a child, and receiving some taunts for them. It was a painful experience - for the other child. No one dared tease him about it after that. As he got older he's learned to appreciate them instead. Chicks dig them. Apparently, so does Cas.

 **Dean Winchester 21:47 PM** : _Aww. You're commissioning art of me now Angel? That's sweet. You must be really into me!_

 **Cas 21:48 PM:** _Like you wouldn't believe. The message still stands, though._

Butterflies bloom in his stomach, unbidden. Without hearing Cas’ voice, he can't know if he's being sarcastic or not. Judging by Dean's behaviour lately, he has no reason to still be interested in Dean. But he can't help hoping it isn't sarcastic. And why else would he be sending such an erotic picture?

 **Dean Winchester 21:50 PM** : _Yeah what's up with that wingboy? I don't get it._

 **Cas 21:51 PM** : _That's a shame. Good bye, Dean._

Faced with an abrupt dismissal and the question unanswered Dean goes back to staring at the picture. His head fills with fantasies about what it would feel like to have Cas pinned under him and to do whatever has to be done to make Cas look that fucked out. His cock starts filling with blood and Dean's hand moves downwards to massage it gently through his sweatpants.

I mean, _come on_! That pink lollipop? It couldn't have been more obvious what he’s implicating, short of suckling a real dick.

Sam's laughter from Sam’s room startles him and he puts his phone down and hides his erection under a throw pillow. Fuck!

"Hey, Dean! Did Cas send you the picture too?" Sam asks, grinning when he enters the living room.

Did Cas send Sam the same picture as the one he got?!? _Eww_! In that case he’s hugely misinterpreting things.

"What picture?"

"This one." Sam hands him the phone.

To Dean's relief it _isn't_ the same picture.

In this one Cas is standing in the locker room, freshly showered and in civilian clothes - a black tight T-shirt and blue jeans. He's grinning and holding out an arm with a big bag of candy in one hand. Underneath it, just out of grasp, a cute chubby black kid is standing on his toes trying to reach the candy. The message attached to the pic reads " _0-6; Like stealing candy from a kid_!"

Dean chuckles at that.

There are other details in this pic. In the background some of the other Angels are visible in different state of undress. Balt’s holding up the victory sign with both hands, Lucifer’s sitting on the bench smiling open-mouthed with the most sincere, happy expression Dean has ever seen on him. Uriel’s looking at the kid (his son presumably) with a fond smile and Bartholomew’s in the middle of putting his shirt on.

Dean quickly forwards the picture to himself. As soon as he has done that Sam's phone beeps, announcing another incoming message from Cas. Sam sits down beside Dean and they read it together.

 **Cas 22:06 PM:** _Just kidding. No juveniles were bereft of their sugar in the making of this picture. I would never be (caught on camera) stealing candy from a child._

Both brothers laugh at that.

"I miss him," Dean says without thinking.

"Yeah. Me too," Sam answers with a smile, not thinking anything out of order about the statement.

Sam takes the phone from Dean's hands and dials Cas' number. He puts the phone on speaker before the first ringtone sounds and Cas picks up on the first ring.

"Hello, Sam." There's laughter and chatter in the background.

"Hey, Cas! Congratulations to the win!"

"Thank you. I feels wonderful to be back on the ice again. I am not suited for idling on the bench. Although, I must say, with the level of resistance Windy Coast HC put up, they might as well not have been present on the ice at all." The dry smile can be heard in Cas' voice.

Dean chuckles softly in the background and Cas catches it.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Angel," he answers softly and gets a strange look from Sam which he promptly responds to by glaring at him.

"Who's the kid?" Sam asks, still eyeballing Dean strangely.

"Oh. That's Uriel's son Derek. He lives here in Windy Coast with his mother. An extremely cocky little rugrat that one."

"Uriel has a son?" Sam asks then, finally abandoning his scrutinization of Dean.

"Yes. Derek is six now. And earlier today Uriel proposed to his mother. She goes to school here, studying to become a doctor. They were highschool sweethearts."

"Then why doesn't he play for Windy Coast?" Dean asks.

Cas scoffs like the very idea is offensive. "After tonight's crushing victory - do I really need to answer that, Dean? Anyway, Clara, that's her name, is set to do her internship at Twin Town General Hospital so they won't be separated for very much longer."

"That's nice. I'm happy for him," Sam, always the sympathetic diplomat, says.

In the background they hear Cas being spoken to. "Uncle Cassiel! I wanna play cowboy! Staph talkin' in de phone!" The boy's voice.

"Of course. Go put your cowboy hat on and I'll be done in a minute," Cas answers. Then he returns his attention to the phone conversation. "It seems like I've been roped into equestrian duty. A sheriff can't go far without a mount after all. We already played cowboy for two hours earlier today. My knees are killing me and I've lost count on how many sugar cubes and carrots I've consumed this far, but at least Derek is generous with rewarding his trusty steed."

Both brothers laugh.

"You mean you let him ride you while you run around on all fours, _uncle Cassiel_?" Dean grins, seeing with his inner eye Cas galloping around on hands and knees with the six year old waving a plastic pistol on his back. The idea is adorable and makes him curious to see Cas interact with children, something he has never seen. "I'd like to see that," he adds.

Cas chuckles throatily.

"Of course, Dean. I have no qualms about getting on my knees for a good boy. But if you wish to see me that way you'll have to up your game considerably." Cas voice has gone darker, huskier and there's a suggestive lilt making it VERY FUCKING CLEAR that what Cas is talking about has nothing to do with children _what. so. ever_! Dean’s out of the couch, pacing the in front of the coffee table before he knows it.

" _Sonofabitch fucking **hell** , Angel!_" he sputters, fisting his hair and staring at Sam's phone where it's lying on the coffee table like it has betrayed him. His cheeks are burning and so are his insides.

Cas chuckles huskily again.

"Dean, If Hell is an analogy referring to yourself as a demon, that can be arranged," Cas purrs with dark amusement.

If Dean was burning before he's ablaze now. His mouth has gone dry and he swallows, licking his lips, he's at loss for what to say. Then he looks up from the phone to see Sam's looking at him with confused wonder in his eyes, mouth hanging open in a bemused smile, blushing slightly.

"FUCK!" Dean storms away to his room and slams the door.

* * *

"Dude. Have you got the hots for my brother?" Sam asks dubiously after Dean has stormed off.

"Everybody with a hint of libido should rightfully have the hots for your brother, Sam. The question is superfluous," Cas says dryly without a hint of shame.

"Huh... You know he's straight, right?" Sam asks. But for the first time he isn't as certain as he’s always been. Because, as much as his mind is short circuiting trying to process it - Dean's sweat pants had been tenting slightly while he stared horrified at the phone after Cas' very unsubtle come on. And Dean had looked horrified by all means, but not disgusted. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Cas chuckles.

"Uh-huh," Cas says skeptically. "As straight as you are, Sam," he answers. Which is a double edged sword really. Sam might have told Dean he has kissed guys and pawned it off as being purely under coerced circumstances, waving it away as nothing special. But that isn’t _quite_ true. Sam doesn’t want to dwell on that.

"Anyway," Sam says, clearing his throat and feeling awkward. "Look, even if..." He can't even say it. Dean being bi? That's just such a foreign thought. "I mean. Um. Just don't get your hopes up, Cas. Dean's in love with someone and―"

Cas cuts him off. "Dean's in love," he states, no emotional inflections in his voice whatsoever.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is," Sam answers, grateful for the subject being diverted from the brothers' sexuality.

"Are - you - _sure_?" Cas asks, stressing every word.

"Yeah. He basically told me. I mean, he didn't use that word but he admitted to having a crush. So. Look. Don't get your hopes up, because when Dean's in love he gets very devoted to that person."

Cas laughs a little mirthless laugh. "You're not pleading a convincing case considering his recent behaviour. I have to go now. Thanks for calling and take care. Bye, Sam," Cas says, voice hard around the edges.

Cas hangs up, leaving Sam staring at the phone with a befuddled frown, wondering what Cas meant by that. He does not have to wonder for long, because mere seconds later Cas sends him a text.

 **Cas 22:19 PM:** _Is this the devotion you're talking about? [link attached]_

Sam clicks the link and is taken to a gossip site with an article about Dean. "Demon Dean on the Prowl". Sam can see why Cas would doubt the sincerity of Sam's statement based on the photographic evidence of Dean's drunk, heartbroken self-destruction. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair and then gets up and walks over to Dean's room, knocking on the door.

"Dean. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sammy," comes the reply, muffled through the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Whatever."

Sam opens the door and peeks in. Dean lies idly on his bed on top of the covers, arms flung up bent above his head on the pillow. He looks tired.

"That was kinda douchy what Cas did," Sam says.

Dean huffs. "Yeah, he’s never been so straightforward before."

"Wait. Before? He comes on to you often?"

Dean turns his head and looks at Sam with a smirk on his face. "Hey, I'm hot stuff! It's not _my_ fault everybody wants me," he says while waggling his eyebrows and winking at Sam.

Huh.

Sam had expected Dean to be much more bothered by this. He chuckles at his big brother. "That's what Cas said, with other words of course." He grins.

"Oh yeah? What did he say?" Dean asks and rolls onto his side, supporting his head on a hand and looking up at Sam with a curious smile.

 _Ooo_ kay. Really, Sam had expected some serious angsting, discomfort, anger maybe. Not this.

"Everybody with a hint of libido should rightfully have the hots for your brother, Sam," Sam says, doing his best Cas-impression.

Dean laughs and Sam grins at him. "Hell yeah! Wingboy got that right!" 

Sam shakes his head. "So you're okay with him saying stuff like that?"

"Yeah. It's fine, really."

"Then why did you run out?"

Dean snorts. "Dude. Your best friend fucking propositioned me in front of you."

"And _that's_ what bothered you?"

"Doesn't it bother _you_?" Dean asks raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Well, yeah. I guess. I don't want stuff to get awkward with both of you in the same room. I like when we hang out all three of us."

"So do I."

"Anyway, I told him he stood no chance because you're in love, but he didn't believe you were."

Dean sputters. "You _told_ him tha..." He breaks off and drags a hand over his face. "Never mind. Why didn't he believe you?"

Sam walks up to the bed and hands Dean the phone with the article. Dean takes it and looks at it, scrolling down to look at the pictures. He groans miserably.

"Dude. I need to stop drinking so fucking much! I don't even _remember_ those girls," he whines. "How is this my life?" he asks and throws the phone on the bed, tipping over to faceplant on the pillow.

"Can't argue with you there. If the girl you're in love with sees that I'm pretty sure your chances are blown."

Dean's is shaking. It takes a beat for Sam to realise he's laughing. "Why is that funny?"

Dean lifts his head up from the pillow. "I can guarantee with 100% surety that the person in question already has," he says and then buries his head in the pillow again.

"Oh. That's... That's not good."

Dean flips onto his back and gives him a humourless smile. "No shit, Sherlock. Let's leave these depressing thoughts, okay? Wanna watch a movie?"

"Sure. How about Forbidden Kingdom? Then we won't have to argue whether to watch Jet Li or Jackie Chan."

"You're on!" Dean grins.

And with that Sam leaves tonight's possible revelation to dwell on another time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Forbidden Kingdom](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0865556/) is a totally awesome movie if you like Jet Li or Jackie Chan. :) FYI.


	38. Brady Friggin' Callaghan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the 6th 7 years ago Sam is fangirling, Lucifer is amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter.**  
>  This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
> **Notes:** Okay so listen up everybody. It's yet unclear if this is Canada, USA or wherever. Instead of delving into research I'm going to take liberties with any system and implement my own as this is an _Alternative_ universe. This time it's the school system. Obligatory school is from the age of 7 to 16 here, but unless you drop out like Dean did, you stay in school to the year you turn 19. Freeville has two schools, one for the age 7-12 and one for 13-19.
> 
> Oh, and Brady's last name is taken from Eric Johnson's (the actor who played Brady in SPN) character in Rookie Blue. Go ahead and write that down in your _inconsequential-things-I-didn't-need-to-know-_ notebook.

* * *

**May the 6th, 2007**

* * *

"Hey, Winchester! Wait up!"

Sam’s making his way across the field towards the bleachers after physics. When he’s almost level with them somebody calls out to him. He turns around to see Brady _friggin_ ' Callaghan jog towards him with a friendly wave. Sam’s practically swooning. Brady’s two years his senior and the school's best athlete. He does track and field mainly. All the sprinting events, long jump and high jump _and_ he plays football. Sam can't for the life of him figure out what Brady might want from him. Brady comes to a stop in front of him, panting and leaning his hands on his knees to catch his breath as he’d been running laps when he spotted Sam.

"Do I know you?"

Great work Sam. Be an ass. Real impressive. _**Not**_.

Brady grins and straightens out, running his hand through his hair so it won't cling to his sweaty forehead. "Way to butter a guy up, Winchester." His blue eyes sparkle with humour, but then dart away and he shifts from foot to foot.

_Everybody_ knows who Brady is! Sam almost wants to ask for an autograph.

"Oh yeah. Brady, right?" Sam relents, unconsciously copying the gesture and running his hand through his hair and Brady looks back at him.

He’s sweating. The heat is stifling. Has it gotten even warmer since he left the locker rooms? Or is it just his imagination.

"Right. And you're Sam." Brady rubs a hand over his thigh to dry it and then offers it for Sam to shake.

Oh my God!

_Brady friggin' Callaghan knows who I am!!_

He shakes the other boy's hand. Brady's got a firm handshake, not crushing in an alpha male sort of way. Strong and confident.

And why shouldn't he be confident? He's like, friggin _God_ in this school!

"Yeah, I am." Sam smiles, feeling more than a little awkward on the inside.

Brady lets go of his hand and looks him over quickly, top to bottom and back up, smile widening when he meets Sam's eyes.

"So, listen. I've seen you at parties. I, um, I was wondering if you'd like to come to my party next Friday? My parents are out of town."

_Brady_ friggin _' Callaghan is inviting_ ME _to his house!!_

Sam feels himself blushing slightly and rubs his neck.

"Yeah, sure. But, um... If this is because you want to meet my brother you don't have t..."

Brady chuckles softly and interrupts him with a gesture. "No. I'm not interested in your brother. I'm inviting you because I want to get to know _you_." Brady wets his lips and smiles, eyes flickering over Sam before he once again meets Sam's eyes.

Yep. Swooning for sure now!

"Can't blame you. I'm a cool guy to know," Sam says with a big lopsided grin that dimples his cheeks while he looks up at Brady from under his bangs, head slightly tilted, hitching his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. Faking cockiness he doesn’t feel.

"So I've heard," Brady says, fidgeting a bit, smile bordering on shy.

Yeah right. What does _he_ have to be shy about? And he’s _heard_...?

"Yeah?" Sam says, perking up.

"Yeah. Sporty straight A student. Nice to everyone but don't take shit from anybody. Flirty and cocksure. Sounds cool to me," Brady says, puffing up a bit, smirking, and gives Sam a soft nudge on the shoulder with his knuckles.

And, Sweet _jeezuz_! That is so far from the self-image Sam has that it sets his mind reeling. Especially since his first 5 school years, he'd been bullied for being a nerd. He can't help the deep flush creeping up on his face. He looks down on his sneakers.

"That might be a bit exaggerated. 'M 'fraid I'm gunna disappoint you if that's what you think."

Brady seems to regain full confidence in the face of Sam's coyness. "I doubt it. Say, you any good at English?" he asks and takes a step closer.

"Yeah, I am?" Sam says, looking up. Posing it as a question, not sure what Brady’s getting at.

"So, listen, Sam. English is givin' me some trouble. Maybe you could come over this week and help me study?"

"Dude, you're two grades above me!" Sam blurts.

Holy crap! Brady _friggin_ ' Callaghan is asking for MY help!

Brady holds up his hands in a placating gesture, bending his head a little and taking a step back.

"Hey, it's cool. I understand if it's too hard."

Too _hard_?! Pfft! I don't think so, big boy!

Sam scoffs and draw himself up to full height, tilts his head, narrows his eyes and gives Brady a lopsided smirk. Every inch as cocksure as Brady said he’s reputed to be. This is _his_ turf after all. Unconsciously he takes a step closer, reducing the distance Brady put between them, a little closer than before, perhaps.

"It's no way near _too_ hard, dude. What you're studying now, is what I entertained myself with last year when I got bored," he says, voice full of confidence.

Brady's tongue darts out to wet his lips, he swallows, showing the barest hint of being nervous. "So you'll do it then?" he asks and bites his bottom lip, giving Sam full focus.

"Yeah, sure," Sam agrees with a shrug and a smile. "But I'm not doin' your homework _for_ you, if that's what you think."

Brady's face splits up into a grin that somehow reminds Sam of how Dean smiles when he has secured a conquest but the girl didn't realise it yet.

Brady must really be in need of help.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Brady assures, a hint of humour in his voice. "Okay, so I ain't got my phone on me right now, but if you hand over yours I'll send me a text so I can call you later, okay?"

Sam digs up his phone and hands it over. Watching in awe as Brady _friggin_ ' Callaghan gives him his number. He keeps his face in a lopsided grin to keep himself from fist-pumping the air with how jubilant he feels.

This is awesome! Why would Brady, the king of this school even amongst those older than him, want to get to know _him_?!

He takes the opportunity to look the other boy over since he's never been so close to him before. He is taller than Sam, but with how fast Sam has been growing lately he'd (probably) ( _Hopefully_!) get taller than Brady eventually. The boy is blond, broad-shouldered, slim and well muscled as one could expect from a perpetual athlete. Good looking, a small cleft in his jaw, slightly slanted blue eyes and a perfect smile with soft looking lips that set every girl's heart aflutter when it’s directed at them. He’s currently wearing black track pants and a corn blue runner's shirt that clings to him in a very flattering way. No wonder girls fall over themselves to get to date him. Sam wets his lips.

Brady looks up with a smile and bright eyes, handing the phone back.

"Great. So I'll call you, okay?" Brady raises his eyebrows in question, like Sam would all the sudden change his mind.

Yeah right. Like that would happen! Pfft!

"Yeah. Okay."

"Great! Alright. Gotta go or I'll be late for the next lesson. Bye, Sam!" Brady claps Sam on his upper arm, gives him a wink and then turns and jogs away.

Sam stands still looking at him go, utterly baffled, trying to comprehend what just happened. A wolf whistle breaks him out of the spell and he turns around to see who whistled. He spots the culprit and all thoughts of Brady are instantly gone from his mind, his heart speeding up and he isn't even aware of the huge grin threatening to split his face in half.

Half way up on the bleachers Lucifer is sitting, or rather―is _sprawled_ ―arms stretched out and resting on the tier above him, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle over the lower tiers without regard for whether the seats get dirty. He’s looking at Sam with an amused smirk.

Sam goes to him, taking the steps up two at the time, sidles in beside Lucifer who follows his every move with his eyes, the smirk never leaving his lips. Sam sits down beside Lucifer, not too close but still close enough that he has one of Lucifer's arms behind his back. They'd be touching if he leaned back.

"Well, well, Sammy-my-name-is-Sam. At least you've found a player in your own league this time." Lucifer grins.

"What?" Sam says, not comprehending.

"I saw and heard the whole hook up chat you boys performed. I had front row seats," Lucifer says and gestures at where he’s sitting with the hand not behind Sam's back.

"What are you talking about?" Sam frowns, bemused.

Lucifer tilts his head down and to the side, mimics Sam's lopsided dimple grin, looks up at Sam and bats his eyelashes and in a teasing voice says, "Can't blame you. I'm a cool guy to know."

"Oh my God! _Dude_! It was nothing like that!" Sam rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. He hunches back against the tier behind him. The moment he makes contact with Lucifer's arm a finger comes up and starts twirling a lock of his hair. The touch is both relaxing and nerve-wrecking. Sam both want to purr and has to fight the impulse to bolt.

Lucifer sniggers, radiating amusement. "It was very much like that, Sammy."

Sam arches a sceptical eyebrow and turns his head to look at the Angel. The motion brings more contact. Fingers start dancing lightly over the nape of his neck, making hairs prick.

"But he's a _guy_."

"He's a guy," Lucifer agrees. Eyes twinkling like this is _infinitely_ amusing.

"So you're saying he was flirting with me?"

"I'm saying both of you were flirting. But yes, he was definitely coming on to you and he was _very_ nervous about it."

"No way!" Sam says turning his whole upper body towards Lucifer, losing contact, uncrossing his arms and making a face between dropping his jaw and grinning. Because the idea that Brady _friggin_ ' Callaghan is nervous about talking to him is soo much more incredulous than that Brady’s hitting on him.

Lucifer smirks, seeming pleased with Sam's reaction.

"How d'ya come to that conclusion?" Sam asks and throws an arm over the bleacher above, incidentally trapping Lucifer's arm under his armpit. Which has nothing to do with him wanting the contact he just lost. Really, it doesn't.

Lucifer gets that extremely amused sparkle in his eyes again. "You want me to evaluate what I saw?"

Sam nods vigorously.

"Very well," Lucifer answers showing a great deal of complacent. "First of all it took him two laps around the track keeping you in sight before he managed to muster up the courage to approach, and that was only when he almost missed the chance, as you were going out of reach. Then he admitted that he’d been checking you out at parties you've both been at, followed up by informing you that he’d been asking around about you. Enough to know that you ace English far above your grade's level, hence giving him an excuse to get you to come to his home. And that's just what he said with words." Lucifer pauses, giving Sam a moment to process and studies his reactions with what looks like amused fondness.

Sam's mouth is still open in wonder and cheeks straining with a smile. He shakes his head repeatedly but not knowing what it is he doesn't believe. Put like that, Sam can see it. He can. But the thought that Brady would be interested in _him_? That’s so hard to grasp. A dirt-poor nobody whose only merit is having a brother who’d sailed through this season, making a huge name for himself in Freeville. Lucifer continues.

"As for the unspoken... The boy is brave enough not to care what people think of his fluid preferences. But he’s scared shitless of rejection. At first hint of getting a no he was ready to bolt, but you, you sly little minx, wouldn't let him." Lucifer pokes him in the chest with a finger and winks.

"What?"

"First off you copy his gestures, then you combined coy and plucky perfectly. And when he was backing away you followed him, preventing his escape. And the way you were checking him out when he had his attention on the phone? You practically burned the clothes off his body, drooling."

"Hey! It was nothing like that! I was just thinking that... That... um."

Lucifer raises an eyebrow with a closelipped grin full of amusement. "Yes, Sammy, what _were_ you thinking, _hm_?" His voice is teasing.

"...Um. That it wasn't a wonder that all the girls fall all over themselves for a chance to date him..." Sam mumbles. It sounds less like a valid defence than he would have liked.

"So after a slow-motion once over drinking the guy in, you thought about how much all the _girls_ wanted to date him? Now, now, Sammy. Sounds to me like you're not being completely honest with yourself." Lucifer's taunting mirth grates on Sam.

"It wasn't like that." Was it? "I was just a bit blown away by having the school's king talking to me." That at least he’s sure of.

"And if you wish, you can have the school's king blow you too." Lucifer sniggers.

Sam blushes furiously and rolls his eyes. "So you're saying he wants to fuck me?" he asks dubiously.

"That's not _at. all._ what I'm saying, Sammy."

Sam's face scrunches up in confusion. "But... I don't get it. What do you mean?"

Now it's Lucifer's turn to roll his eyes and then massage his temples with one hand, making a noise of exasperation. "It's the other way around, Sam. Don't get me wrong, he won't say no if you offer, but he wants you to be on top. Not only in the physical sense I might add. That guy is so used to people deferring to him, and is starved for somebody to treat him like a lesser being to match how he feels about himself. Didn't you notice how every time you turned up the alpha in you he got all hot and bothered?"

" _Dude_." Is all Sam can say. Why on earth would someone like Brady think little of himself? He had everything. And ' _turn up the alpha_ ' was hardly something he'd done. Well, if faking confidence doesn't count. ..... But if it does, ...Brady had gotten fidgety and a little shy when he did. Huh.

Sam makes a sceptical face that must have looked funny, because Lucifer sniggers again.

"He is somewhat in your league, Sammy, unlike that Ruby tramp. Associate yourself with him and you too will have a place at the royal table so to speak." Lucifer pauses and quirks his lips downward in the facial equivalent of a shrug. "You will anyway, from what I've seen these last couple of weeks. But, play him in a hot and cold manner and he will place you above himself and enforce that idea for you. You can have him wrapped around your finger and tug his leash however you want, if you handle your cards right. Just don't let him claim you as _his_. Don't let _anybody_ claim you." Lucifer says, all with an amused smirk. But the two last sentences come out hard and rough on the edges and with a glint in his eyes (possessive?) that Sam immediately responds to by inching a bit closer, not even aware he is doing so. The movement shifts the hardness into something pleased in Lucifer's eyes. 

Has Lucifer been watching him without his knowledge? He must have. ' _From what I've seen_...' That should be scary but it's exciting and Sam inches a bit closer again, something inside of him swooping. He thinks about Brady, and what Lucifer is trying to tell him now.

"Gods. Does that mean... Um. If I go over there to study...?" Sam flusters, unsure of what to make of this. Lucifer chuckles and strokes an errant strand of hair out of Sam's eyes. The touch is brief and seems affectionate. Sam wants to follow the hand when it withdraws.

"He won't make a move on you. He won't _deny_ you, should you come onto him, but won't make a move himself. Fear of rejection remember? No, he will make a move when you don't have much of a choice to play along. Had it been Christmas he'd use the excuse of a mistletoe, now..." Lucifer shrugs. "Probably during a party. In a game perhaps? Possibly truth or dare, spin the bottle, or something like it. When the shame of forfeit is put on you, not him, should you refuse. Not the party next Friday. He has to work up new courage before he is bold enough again."

"How do you even _know_ all this?" Sam asks incredulously.

"It's a talent."

"I'm still not sure if I believe you..." Yeah, he does. Lucifer always seems to know what he is talking about. But still....

Lucifer turns his whole upper body towards Sam and smiles, looking like an extremely self-satisfied predator. "You wanna bet?"

Holy crap! He _is_ serious!

Sam grins in response. Now ready to take Lucifer's word as gospel. Especially when he's looking so sure of himself.

"No, I don't wanna bet when you look like that. Anyway, you just don't _claim_ people," he challenges, thinking of the warning not to be claimed by anybody.

"Sure you do. And you should, Sammy. Stake a claim in ken-doll jock and make him dance for you. You'll find the power he is ready to give you heady, you'll like it."

Sam scoffs. "What gives me the right to mess with someone like that?" he asks with a bemused frown, not impressed by the idea. Stringing someone along seems cruel rather than heady.

Lucifer tuts. "Nobody _gives_ you the right, you take it. And _you_ deserve it." Lucifer bops his nose with a fond expression and an air of superiority.

Sam doesn't know what to make of all this and falls into silent contemplation. Brady is a guy. He’s never thought about a guy that way. He realises that he isn't bothered by the thought, it's just weird. He has more trouble accepting that _Brady_ is interested in him, than the fact that he is a guy. Dad had once in a while ranted about it being wrong when two guys liked each other, but had never been able to explain why, in a satisfying manner. He’d resorted to anger and violence as a punishment for questioning him, and as far as Sam was concerned - if you had to bully someone into agreeing with you, and couldn't use words to argue your case, then you were wrong, to begin with. Of course, Sam had never been on the receiving end of those punishments. Dean had banished him to his room or the yard like he did most times when dad was angry. Sam had only seen the aftermath. One time it had been particularly brutal Sam knew. He’d questioned dad and Dean had chased him out of the room. Sam had been lying on his bed, hiding under his blankets and waiting for dad to come after him, straining his ears but hearing nothing. Almost an hour later Dean had come into his room, moving extremely gingerly and wearing his 'brave-face'. Trying his best to hide his pain and almost shaking with it. Sam wasn't fooled. Even then, he couldn't have been more than 7 or 8, he knew that when Dean crawled into bed with him and curled himself around Sam like a shell, whispering _'It's okay, I'm here, you're safe_ ,' over and over, it was Dean that needed the comfort and reassurance. 

That fact alone made Sam's mind rebel. If the punishment was already dealt then what's the point not doing the 'crime'? No matter how foreign the thought of kissing a guy is, he’s willing to try it at least once, for no other reason than that it'd piss dad off! Even if dad is dead. Not that he thinks an opportunity will ever present itself. And _Brady_? Really? If Lucifer’s right then he sure as Hell could do worse if he wants to experiment. Sam isn't afraid of what others will think of him. He'd been bullied for being bookish without giving a flying fuck, so why be bothered by other aspects? If Brady did call like he said he would, he'll see what that will lead to. If Lucifer is wrong he'll at least get to know somebody he admires.

Lucifer breaks him out of his reverie. "So Sammy, what do you want to do when you grow up?" he says, switching the subject.

Jarred out of his thoughts he answers. "I usta wanna become a lawyer and move far away from here. California maybe? But since dad died... I don't wanna move anymore. I'm gunna stay here and become a hockey player like Dean. I know I'm not a natural like he is, but I can't wait 'til I'm old enough to tour with the older guys!" Sam's excitement elevates while he's talking.

"It's not all what it's amped up to be," Lucifer says.

"Oh I know _that_! Dean’s whining 'bout it constantly. But I will get to see the ocean and fly in airplanes." He beams at Lucifer.

"You like that?"

"I dunno. I've never tried. But I really wanna see the ocean in real life! It's amazing how many cool creatures live in it! And Dean says it has a special scent, like nothing else, and gives you a feeling of vastness that can't be captured by images or on film. He told me he was totally gobsmacked the first time he was in a boat at sea with no land to be seen in any direction."

Lucifer purses his lips and studies him thoughtfully while he gushes enthusiastically. Then he hums, gets to his feet and smacks Sam lightly on the upper arm. "Come on," he says and starts walking.

"I can't go anywhere. It's 10 AM and I've got classes!"

Lucifer stops on the step below, throws a look at Sam over his shoulder and shrugs. It's either a _'suit yourself'_ or an _'I don't give a fuck'_ shrug. Then he saunters down the last steps, rounds the bleachers and heads for the nearby parking lot, disappearing from view.

Sam remains sitting, torn between duty and a desperate wish to go with the Angel. He doesn't know where Lucifer will be taking him or for how long. If he cuts classes he will without a doubt get in trouble. Staying is the right thing to do. He shouldn't be so obsessed with the older man, to begin with. Yeah. Staying is the right decision.

A minute ticks by, maybe three.

Sam gets up and races down, rounding the bleacher and sprints in the direction Lucifer disappeared. He’s flooded with relief when he gets to the parking lot and sees Lucifer's car. The motor is running but the passenger door is wide open. Part of Sam wonders if he should be worried about that. He slides in and the car begins rolling before he even finishes shutting the door.

Lucifer pays attention to the road. "Took you long enough," he chides.

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that." Sam mutters while buckling his seatbelt, all the while wondering why he is apologising. Especially when he sees Lucifer smirking at it.

After that they drive in silence. Sam’s feeling jittery and nervous. This is the first time he’s cut classes. On purpose anyway. When dad was alive there had been times when he couldn't go to school because of various reasons, but the last two years have been calm enough for him to really focus on his studies. Not ever having a lot of friends has meant a lot of time to himself, and it has been crammed with books. Stuff that people his own age found excruciatingly boring he revels in. When he moved up to this school, he at least was no longer bullied for being a nerd. Mostly he's been ignored in a friendly sort of way. These last couple of months everything had taken an unforeseen turn after hooking up with Ruby. Shifting from unknown, to known, and now with Brady taking an interest possibly he’s shifting into the popular clique. Maybe he already has. Classmates talk to him, he gets invites to parties, strangers say hello in the corridors. Not that it has deterred him from his school work in any way. But for Lucifer he’s apparently ready to throw responsibility over board just to get to spend some time with him. His curiosity about the man is insatiable. Even more so now, in the light of a recent discovery he’s made.

Lucifer keeps his focus on traffic. He’s relaxed and radiates contentment, the barest hint of a smirk at the corners of his lips. Sam wonders who he really is, but doesn't dare to ask. Not yet. He wonders if Lucifer is his real name. Who would name a child that anyway, what with the stigma that comes with it? But Lucifer carries the name as if he owns it. It suits him, really. Sam vows to ask him later about what he found, trying to dig up more about him, when he’s gathered more courage.

When they leave twin towns Lucifer steps on the gas. They go in the opposite direction than they did last time, so they're not heading for the cabin. Lucifer flicks his eyes towards Sam and winks, acknowledging that he knows he's been studied. Sam flushes in embarrassment.

"Where are we going?" Sam asks, trying to cover for his embarrassment.

Lucifer smiles, not taking his eyes off the road, but doesn't answer.

_Fine_. Be that way.

Sam sulks and looks out the window at the trees they pass by.

"It had no bearing on your decision to come with me," Lucifer points out when Sam mopes.

Well, that's true. But it doesn't mean he doesn't want to know.

"You'll see. You can put on music if you want unless you feel like talking," he adds when Sam doesn't answer.

Sam scoffs.

" _Pfft_. Like I could get a word in sideways when you're being such a regular chatterbox!" Sam snipes sarcastically making Lucifer snigger.

" _Aww_. You're cute when you're sassy," Lucifer says. There's a tone of mockery in his voice and Sam doesn't like it.

"Give me break, would ya!" He snaps.

Lucifer gives him a Cheshire cat grin, leans forward and opens the glove compartment. There's a multi-pack of KitKat in it, and Sam can't hold back a huff of amusement as he rolls his eyes.

"Dude, that's so cheesy," he says but grabs one of the offered snacks anyway. It's not like he ever gets straight answers from Lucifer anyway. And it _is_ kinda funny in a corny way. He reaches out and switches on the radio, fiddles with the stations until he finds one that plays a mix of old songs and top hits.

They come to the nearest city, but instead of turning off the highway Lucifer goes around it. Sam’s surprised and a little worried but doesn't say anything about it. Occasionally they speak or sing along with the radio but mostly they’re just quiet. It's a pleasant kind of quiet and Sam’s just content looking out of the window, watching forests, lakes, farmland and small communities flow by. He spots deer, boar, a fox, hares, and a couple of raptor birds along the way. They pass by another large city and by now Sam is really anxious to know where they're going. They eat the rest of the KitKats and make a stop for Lucifer to refuel his car while Sam takes the opportunity to go to the toilet.

After three hours they reach yet another big city and finally, Lucifer turns off the highway. There are a lot of cars on the streets so the journey inside the city is slow going. It doesn't matter to Sam, who has his face pressed up against the window watching everything. All the people milling around, the fancy stores and skyscrapers. The statues and plazas and parks. The big neon signs and computerised advertisement billboards. He drinks it all in excitedly.

They park outside a huge dome-shaped building and finally get out of the car. It feels good to stretch his legs after the long journey. Lucifer buys them a hot dog each from a vendor that they eat before going any further. Then they walk along the curved wall of the big building and finally, Sam can see the entrance. He sucks in an excited breath and beams at Lucifer who grins in response.

"It's not the ocean exactly..." Lucifer says.

"No, only one of the largest Aquariums in the country!" Sam responds and practically bounces on his heels in excitement.

He’s always wanted to go to one of these things, but it's too far away, too much hassle and Dean prefers camping, fishing, and hunting when they make an effort. It's mind blowing that Lucifer would take him here on a whim.

Lucifer pays for the both of them and they head inside. There's so much to see. There are instalments for rainforest fish, complete with a small mangrove area with a pool where you can see archer fishes swim. They're lucky to see a demonstration when an employee shows a preschool class how the fish spits at its prey to get it to fall into the water. There are domestic lake aquariums with bass and pike and other fish Sam has caught himself many times. There are coral reef aquariums with the most colourful fish and shrimps you can imagine. A pool where you can pet rays. And long glass tunnels under a sea life aquarium with sharks, other huge fish and large schools of smaller ones swimming right by and over. Lucifer follows Sam from place to place with a content little smile and a warm twinkle in his eyes as he listens to Sam gush facts about the things he sees, only giving his own input when Sam prompts him to do so.

"Oh, and did you know that the mantis shrimp has [16 different](http://theoatmeal.com/comics/mantis_shrimp) colour receptors whilst we have 3. Can you imagine what it would be like to see that way?"

Lucifer shakes his head with an amused grin. They're standing in one of the glass tunnels and a particularly large shark swim overhead.

"What's your favourite sea creature? I bet it's sharks," Sam asks.

Lucifer shakes his head again. "You'd be losing that bet. They have to be constantly moving to stay alive, which doesn't sound very appealing to me. I prefer orcas better if you are being specific about large predatory sea life. But no. I'd say, perhaps, jellyfish."

"What? Why?" Sam asks dumbfounded.

"Touch them the right way they are harmless, but the wrong way and there are several species that can severely harm you or even kill. You won't necessarily see them coming. Like the Irukandji jellyfish. A mere cubic centimeter large, they can have stinging threads up to a meter long yet the damage they cause is tremendous. The Lion's mane jellyfish can reach more than two meters across the bell and trail 30 meter long stingers. And then, of course, there's the box jellyfish. One of the deadliest killers on earth, killing within minutes. It's said that one jellyfish carries enough venom to kill 60 people. And despite some jellyfish looking like nothing more than blobs they are vastly complex in their composition. I like them, even the ones that are harmless to us. On top of that, they are beautiful to look at."

"Huh," is all Sam can say to that. It was not what he'd expect from Lucifer. But then again, he knows nothing about the guy.

They stay until closing time, by then Sam's feet are aching. It's been great and he’s happy he skipped school for this.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is once again divided into two as it became too long. This means you'll have two more chapters of past Sam/Lucifer to read before I turn back to the future. I am told that if you can't handle that you are weak and don't deserve my awesomeness. *sniggers* Because apparently, I need a pumped up ego I decided to listen to that advice. ^^
> 
> And damned! All the potential smut this secondary pairing blasted me with! That was unintentional btw. Brady is a plant for another reason. A plot line in the future that may or may not come into play, but _if_ it does the only thing about this is that's important is that Brady, indeed, has a thing for Sam. Just as Sam said when he confessed to Dean that he had kissed guys.
> 
> Oh and if you didn't get the Kit Kat thing - their slogan is "Have a break, have a Kit Kat."
> 
> And about the mantis shrimp. The facts are slightly off as Wikipedia was a much more boring source than the oatmeal. But it's close enough. :) I recommend you take a peek at <http://theoatmeal.com/comics/mantis_shrimp> to learn more in a fun way. Also, if you go there, take a peek into the category most popular and read My dog: the paradox if you are a dog owner. It cracked me up!


	39. Rule No.2: If an adult attacks you, fight back and scream for help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the 6th 7 years ago Lucifer takes Sam to the Aquarium. When they're leaving, things happen. And there is pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Violence towards minor.  
> \- Unhealthy behaviour. (Christ. I don't know how else to put it!)  
> \- Pizza is unhealthy too. FYI.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**PIZZA FOR TWO**

* * *

_May the 6th, 2007... (continued)_

 

Once outside of the Aquarium, they're walking slowly towards the car, Sam two steps ahead of Lucifer. "So, is Lucifer your real name?" Sam asks, looking at people passing by on the pavement.

"Yes. What else would it be?" Lucifer answers from behind him.

"I dunno. Nick maybe?" Sam says, trying to make it sound nonchalant.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, high up, where it meets his neck. Fingers pinch painfully and expertly aimed at bundles of nerves sending pain up along his neck and down his side like javelins, making him fold in towards the hand before he catches himself, only making a small choked off " _ah_ "-noise from the pain. ' _A man does not show his pain, Sam_ ,' echoing in his head with dad's voice. He tries to jerk away but the fingers dig in deeper, his legs are threatening to buckle so he stills. He looks over his shoulder at Lucifer, heart racing, adrenaline pumping. The ice cold, stony face that regards him darkly makes blood drain from his face and fear to rocket sky high.

"What the _hell_ are you doing to that boy!?" a man's voice says in front of them. But Sam isn't looking at the source, he’s looking at Lucifer who shifts his eyes towards the speaker. There are subtle shifts in his body language that are absolutely terrifying. A slight relaxation of the shoulders, the stomach tensing, face becoming more relaxed and hard at the same time, lids slightly raised and head slightly tilted down. The cold in his eyes dropping like another -100˚C. His aura seems to expand with power, crackling at the edges and encompassing all. The speaker is dead meat. Sam is sure of it. If nothing happens soon...

"Please, Nick! Don't tell mum and dad!" Sam pleads. "It was only one time! I'm not gunna get behind in classes due to this, I promise!"

Lucifer's eyes flick to Sam's. The grip on his shoulder relaxes a bit, still vice-like but enabling him to straighten up and not curve into it.

"Are you alright, kid?" the unseen speaker says and Sam, now able to move a bit, turns his head and looks at him with his best pleading puppy look that always works on Dean. It's a big man, dressed like a lumberjack, beard and all. Showing angry concern, willing to help out when seeing an older man harm a boy. Sam could say no, he's not alright, could say ' _Help me_ ' and this stranger would jump to his defence. That's rare in Sam's experience.

About to become even rarer if the man doesn't _back. off_. Sam’s convinced, even though the man is bigger, that Lucifer would win a fight.

"He's my brother, okay? Look, I'm sorry." He turns his head to look at Lucifer again with the same pleading puppy eyes. "I should never have cut class. But please, _please_ , don't tell mum and dad!"

"He's your brother?" the man says sceptically.

"No," Lucifer says to the man and Sam thinks his heart is going to stop. But then Lucifer's eyes shift to Sam and he continues; "My _brother_ , would never cut class to scamper off to the Aquarium with some random skank. My _brother_ , would never force me to leave work to search for him. And my _brother_ would not have the _audacity_ to ask me to lie to our parents about it!"

Sam makes a guilty grimace, hunching in on himself as he would have, had it been Dean catching him.

It seems to satisfy the man and he walks off with a last glance, saying something like "Don't be too hard on the boy." Much less inclined to get involved in a family quarrel with a big brother doing his duty than a stranger attacking a teen. Sam has about one second to be pleased about thinking of not giving away their real names before the pressure of the fingers deepens, once again shooting pain from the base of his neck up to his skull. He’s pushed forward with quick steps towards Lucifer's car. Once there, Lucifer opens the door to the back seat and shoves Sam in rather brutally before climbing in after him, pushing the lock button on the car key fob.

Ice cold dread is coursing through Sam now. He scrambles up in the furthest corner of the backseat, back pressed up against the door, he draws his legs up under his chin, making himself as small as possible.

But Lucifer doesn't look murderous or cold anymore. His face is unreadable, emotionless. He places himself back against the opposite door, one foot on the floor, one leg bent on the seat, ankle hooked under the bend of the knee of the other. One arm draped along the backrest and the other resting on his thigh. Even in tight confinements such as this, the Angel manages to look like he is sitting in a friggin' lounge chair. He tilts his head slightly and regards Sam, saying nothing.

Sam's heart is thundering in his ears, his mouth has gone dryer than a desert and he's taking deep panicked breaths. When nothing more happens he wills himself to calm his breathing at least. "It looked like you were gunna kill that man," he says shakily.

"I was," Lucifer answers like it's nothing and he isn't wasting any time thinking about it.

Sam believes him. A fact that should frighten him even more. Instead, he relaxes another notch. Legs falling forward slightly and back straightening out, no longer making himself small. He swallows. His head hurts along with the base of his neck where Lucifer dug his fingers in. It triggered a headache and it’s definitely going to leave bruises. Another moment passes by, Lucifer remaining silent, still looking at him from under heavy lids, as relaxed and calm as ever. Sam's breathing goes back to normal and his heart calms down a bit, still beating rapidly, though. Sam settles to wait for what will happen next. Lucifer hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger on the backrest.

Sam can't tell where the impulse comes from, but suddenly he just needs to be close. He needs it desperately, and he needs it now. It overrules fear, it overrules rationality. He can't stand the distance between them. He all but launches himself at Lucifer, eliciting a grunt from the man when his head connects with his chest. Sam fists the man's shirt at his sides, clinging. Lucifer remains in position, not making any move to thwart Sam's needs. Pressing his cheek and ear against Lucifer's chest he can hear his heart. He’s shocked to discover that it's beating like a rapid war drum, belying the man's calm exterior. Oddly, that’s comforting, calming his own heart.

"Interesting that you are slow to catch on people's intentions when at ease, but think so fast during stress," Lucifer says, his voice a pleased purr. Sam basks in it but doesn't reply.

"So, Sammy. You have obviously done your homework. Tell me about me."

Sam burrows his head into Lucifer's ribcage. He smells faintly―but not unpleasantly―of sweat, cologne that has almost worn off, and something else Sam can't identify.

Sam raises his head, rests his chin against Lucifer's chest and looks up at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Is Lucifer _really_ your real name?" he asks.

Lucifer snorts in amusement and meets Sam's eyes with a smirk. "Lucifer is really my real name," he concedes.

"But Morningstar isn't," Sam challenges.

"It is _now_ ," Lucifer says dryly.

Sam flops his cheek down on his chest again, but still angling his head so he can watch Lucifer. "Yeah, but you don't have a paper trail." He pauses and his lips quirk up into a little smile. "Unless you count the bible that is," he adds sarcastically.

Lucifer sniggers silently, humour sparkling in his eyes. The arm along the backrest bends at the elbow and Lucifer strokes him gently over the hair. Warm contentment washes away the last of Sam's fear. Lucifer's heart is still beating very fast for reasons that Sam can't fathom. Sam draws a deep breath and relaxes further when he lets it out.

Okay. Tell Lucifer what he has found out about him. Right.

"Um. So you came here last summer together with Michael Filiusdei, right?" It's a rhetorical question. "So. Um. This coincides with a few months gap with Nick Hijodedios and Matt Sinnaboga leaving the ChHL team the Seraphims for different reasons. Matt who just _happens_ to look like Michael, and Nick who just _happens_ to look like you, but with longer, brown hair and a goatee. And you two just _happen_ to play hockey much better than lower divisions merit."

He raises his head again, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at Lucifer.

Because, _really_? It had taken one ' _Search google with this picture_ ' with a picture of Lucifer to find pictures of Nick Hijodedios if you scrolled down far enough amongst ' _visually similar pictures_ '. If Lucifer’s hiding he isn't very subtle about it.

Lucifer shrugs, unfazed. "SEP," he says.

Sam chuckles. '[Somebody Else's Problem](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somebody_Else%27s_Problem)'. How they hid a spaceship by parking it in the middle of a crowded stadium in The Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. Hiding in plain sight. Being too much trouble for bystanders to care about. Lucifer seems pleased that he got that reference.

"N'ways. Nick has a paper trail, but if you ask me it's totally friggin' bogus."

"How's that?" Lucifer asks, raising his eyebrows, still amused.

"There are papers for everything, schools and what not. They've interviewed people who swore they went to school with Nick. But there are no photos in yearbooks, from earlier teams, on Facebook pages of supposed classmates. No nothing!"

"Did you find out anything else?"

Sam closes his eyes and listens to Lucifer's quick heartbeat. Warmth seeps through the shirt to his cheek and ear. He sighs heavily. "No," he answers, not able to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Nick didn’t exist in reality until you joined the Seraphims at the age of 18. Whoever you were before that is still a mystery to me. There's no chance you'd actually _tell me_ , right?"

A silent laugh makes Sam's head bounce on Lucifer's chest. That's a definite no then.

They are interrupted by Sam's phone ringing. Sam sits up and digs it out of his pocket, but before he can answer Lucifer snatches it out of his hands. Lucifer turns it off and throws it on the passenger seat up front. A knot clenches in Sam's stomach at that. He's going to get in trouble.

Shit. Better not think about that now.

He resumes his previous position, ignoring the unease about the phone.

"Did you contact anybody while you were doing your research? Send mail? Phone calls?" Lucifer asks. The hand is back stroking his hair, making it easy to push the knot in his stomach away.

"No. I thought about it, but didn't want to bring attention to myself. This. This we do, whatever it is, is not exactly something you want to advertise. Shit, Dean would kill me for hanging out with you."

Lucifer's hum vibrates in his ribcage.

"Don't dig deeper, Sammy. It's a hornet's nest you'd be stepping into. Did you check up Matt Sinnaboga too?"

"No. I...Um." Sam swallows and hesitates. "...I wasn't sure. I wanted... I mean. You warned me about Michael." He draws a deep breath. "Look. Why can't you just tell me what that warning was about?! I just wanna―" Lucifer's hand slides out of his hair and clamps down firmly over Sam's mouth, pinching his nose shut at the same time with his thumb and effectively trapping his head in a deadlock inside the bend of Lucifer's arm. Reducing the expression 'don't breathe a word about it' to simply 'don't _breathe_ '.

 

Sam jerks once but Lucifer is _strong_. It's like the man turned to stone all at once. Every muscle in the body underneath Sam is tensed, going from soft and comfortable to friggin _metal_. Panic and adrenaline flares. He is well and truly stuck and the panic makes his body burn up his oxygen faster than it should have. He’s acutely aware of their size differences. Sam knows a thing or three about self-defence. But here and now, his chances would be slim even if he didn't start out with his head trapped and his oxygen cut off. The way he’s being held, he might break his own neck trying to get out of the hold. His pulse thunders in his ears with a whooshing sound that grows louder with every second.

Instead of fighting against Lucifer's hold, he fights his body's instinct to struggle. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, no longer holding his own weight up, making his forehead push against Lucifer's chest and his mouth and nose press into the hand smothering him. He can't see Lucifer like this, only the military green of his shirt, and even that is fading. He starts to tremble with the effort to keep his hands up at the side of his head with palms open in that submissive gesture. Involuntary tears sting in his eyes, stars dancing in his vision, which is fading at the edges. His chest heaves without his say-so, trying to draw breath that isn't available. Yet Sam still refuses to struggle, going against all common sense and natural instinct.

He’s moments from passing out, eyesight going from pin pricks to full black, only his hearing remains. Then the hand lets go and blessed air rushes to his lungs almost painfully. He draws deep, desperate shaky breaths, life once again filling him up with ecstasy. Eyes squeezed shut but tears streaming anyway, his whole body’s trembling in aftershock. He’s afraid. He grips Lucifer's sides and heaves himself higher up on the man's chest, melding their bodies flush together. It makes no sense. He should be scrambling off, should be clawing at the door handles and desperately try to flee. Not trying to get _closer_! But he presses himself against Lucifer like he’s a saviour and salvation all at once.

Then Sam’s being manhandled, lifted part-way, he relaxes to let himself be moved. Lucifer shifts his leg so both feet are on the floor and they no longer have any lower body contact, and slides down a bit into a half lying position. Then he lowers Sam in place again, so that they're flush from the stomach and up. The twisted position must be vastly uncomfortable for him, but apparently, he doesn’t care so Sam takes advantage and slides his arms around his torso in the gap between the car door and the seat, locking himself in place. His head’s bent in under Lucifer's chin, ear pressed down on top of his chest, trying to hear the heartbeat. He can't, due to his own pulse rushing in his ears.

He can't hold back the sobs and the shaking. Lucifer strokes his hair and neck gently, like a lullaby, using both hands. Sam just lets go of thinking, lets go of pride and lets himself cry, wetting Lucifer's shirt without shame. Fingers begin to massage his temple, making the headache disappear. Wandering down with firm but soft circling movements from his temple, along his skull and neck, down to the place Lucifer had pinched earlier. Melting residual pain away expertly as they go.

As the crying subsides, reduced only to an occasional shaky sob, Sam realises that the reason he thought he couldn't hear Lucifer's heartbeat is that it’s beating in unison with his own. The discovery is elating and makes something inside of him jerk pleasantly. He opens his eyes and looks up at Lucifer for the first time since the smothering grip, and is met by light blue eyes looking down at him full of emotion. Sadness, concern, affection, unease. Sam can't place all the emotions so he doesn’t try, settling for being happy that the Angel isn't unaffected.

"I'm sorry," Sam says.

"For what?"

"For ruining your shirt by bawling like an idiot on it."

Lucifer snorts and his lips quirk into a smirk.

"That was a perfectly natural physical response to a near death situation, Sammy," Lucifer chides with a fond lilt to his voice. "You of all people should know that, since this isn't your first time experiencing it," he adds, tracing the scar on Sam's forehead with a finger.

Sam shivers at the touch, cringing on the inside, wondering how much Lucifer really knows about him. "I fell out of a tree," comes the automatic response and instantly he gets a flick on the forehead. A bit painful.

"Don't lie to me, Sammy," Lucifer says with a hard edge and a frown.

"It's _Sam_!" Sam answers, giving Lucifer what Dean would call a 'bitchface'.

Lucifer sniggers and resumes tracing the scar gently, bending his head a bit so Sam feels Lucifer's face resting on the top of his head, just by the hairline.

"'N'eways, I don't wanna talk about it," Sam adds sulkily.

He feels the smile against his forehead. "I'll accept that. _For now._ "

Sam snivels and Lucifer digs up a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to Sam. It's one of those old-fashioned cotton ones. ' ** _L.S._** ' is embroidered on a corner with gold thread. Sam pushes himself up to a sitting position and blows his nose in it. Immediately feeling awkward about having ruined it and totally at loss for what to do with it now. 

He must have made a funny face because Lucifer chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. "That's what they're for, Sammy."

He sits up and takes the handkerchief from Sam's hand, folds it and puts it back in his pocket. Then he dries the tear tracks from Sam's face with the sleeve of his shirt. Sam closes his eyes and lets him do it. He feels totally drained on the inside, bone-tired, more than physical exertion would ever be able to cause. Yet he doesn't want to go home. He wants to stay here, let Lucifer's ministrations comfort and warm him. Because they do. Despite the fact that the man was moments away from taking his life, despite the fact that he didn't fight it. He has no idea what prompted him to do so, because he was scared shitless and did _not_ want to die! Thing is, he doesn’t _trust_ Lucifer. The man is unpredictable and dangerous and clearly plays by a whole other set of rules than normal people. The expression 'one-percenter' comes to mind. Yet Sam can't stay away. Can't get enough. Anticipation, curiosity, and a feeling of belonging is what Sam experiences when he thinks of the man. Which he does way more often than is healthy. Lucifer's presence is heady, like a drug.

"I should never have come with you," he says and opens his eyes to look at the man.

"You're right about that. Sammy. You shouldn't have," Lucifer agrees and lays back down again in that half-laying sprawl, now stretching out his legs on the floor and crossing them at the ankles, jostling Sam's feet. He interlaces his fingers behind his head, expression somewhere between taunting and fond. He manages to make it look comfortable even in the tight crammed fit of the backseat.

After a drawn-out moment of hesitation, Sam lays back down too, draping himself over Lucifer who twists his hip out of the way once again so there's no lower body contact, but other than that accepts Sam's initiative. His hand goes to stroke gently over Sam's hair, the other one maps out Sam's face with two fingers, barely touching. Sam closes his eyes. The fingers ghost over his cheekbone, eyelids, brow, follows the bridge of his nose, circles his nostrils. Up along the middle of his cheek to the ear, trace the shell of his ear, every bend and fold, causing a shiver and pricked hairs. Every touch leaves a tingling sensation on his skin. The fingers wander down, one tracing his jawline, the other the underside of his jaw, then up ghosting his chin. Tracing the outline of his lips, Sam's mouth fall open slightly. Soft touches to the cushion of his lips and Sam's breath becomes harsher, ragged. The touch stills, the body underneath him tenses. Lucifer's fingers withdraw ever so slightly. Just enough not to touch, but Sam can still feel the warmth they radiate, feel his hot puffs of air bounce back on his lips with every exhale, like Lucifer is feeling his breath the same way he just felt his skin.

"Sam? Do you... Do you need this from me?" Lucifer's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant.

" _No_..." Sam answers, voice coming out in a rough croak. He clears his throat, swallows and repeats his answer with a steadier voice. "No. I don't."

The body underneath him relaxes once more and the hand that had been mapping his face comes to rest on his shoulder, giving Sam a moment to calm down. Sam isn't completely sure what Lucifer’s asking. Not really. But the context is clear. This is the second time he has asked, after all. Sam thinks both times there had been a slight emphasis on the word ' _need_ '. And no, he may be needing something from Lucifer, craving it, or he wouldn't be here, to begin with. But that's not it. That's just a physical reaction. Sam thinks he would have let it happen, though, had Lucifer not stopped. He feels slightly ashamed of the heat that has built inside of him from the feathery touches. But he feels no judgement coming from Lucifer. He’s not being shoved off and rejected and the closeness feels good either way.

Lucifer's heart beats steady and calmly now, and lulled by it, it doesn't take long for Sam to calm his breathing and bank out the heat inside. Once he's calm Lucifer's hand goes to caress the nape of his neck tenderly, conveying affection. Thoughts of earlier violence all but gone, the danger and pain he'd been subjected to seem distant. That triggers a thought, something he read about BDSM once, and it makes Sam giggle.

"I s'pose this constitutes as ' _aftercare_ '," he says with wry amusement.

He’s rewarded with a full body laugh. Lucifer shakes of it underneath him and Sam rises, holding himself up on his arms braced on the seat below them. He starts to laugh too. Lucifer's brows are knitted together and eyes shine with unadulterated mirth as he laughs. There's no mockery, no mask on his face now. Sam revels in it.

"Yes, I suppose it would. That was... very _insightful_ of you, Sammy," Lucifer grins at him once he regains some composure. His look is fond and Sam beams at him. Lucifer reaches up, cups the back of Sam's head and pulls him back down on his chest.

Sam feels as well as hears Lucifer let out an errant chuckle. There's a lightness in the air now. Something heavy dissipated. Sam braves a touch and starts stroking Lucifer with his thumbs where his hands are resting at his sides, holding on to the man loosely.

"Ну же, поделись со мной, Сэмми." Lucifer says in Russian. ( _Share with me, Sammy_.)

"И что ты хочешь узнать?" he answers, excited to get another chance to practise. ( _What do you want to know_?)

He feels Lucifer shake his head on top of his.

"Всe."( _Everything_.)

"Ладно... эм... на днях на биологии мы препарировали лягушку..." ( _Okay. ...um... In biology the other day, we got to dissect a frog._..) he begins and proceeds to tell Lucifer about his thoughts of that. Then he tells him things about Dean. About Bobby. About girls at school, his earlier school years. Hockey. The words flow easily and freely and Lucifer listens, corrects his grammar, helps him find the right words when Sam can't find them and has to insert English. He asks questions and hums thoughtfully now and then, all the while his hands wander. Plays with his hair, touches his face, neck, shoulders and partway down his back like he is committing it to memory. Sam feels... Honestly? Sam feels well and truly happy. Which is messed up, but that's how he feels. Happy, relaxed, warm and belonging.

Grown-ups would say it's wrong. They would say he’s only here as an act of rebellion. They’d say he’s too young to know better. But he _knows_ better. He knows how dangerous this is and today was definite proof of that. He knows this is so skewed it should send him fleeing in the other direction. But here, locked inside a car with a grown man 7 years his senior, who’s dangerous and unpredictable, whom he knows nothing about really, more than he isn't who he says he is. Phone shut off, nobody knows where he is, bruises blooming on his shoulder, chest to chest with said man he has a feeling of completeness. He’s not going to devalue his own feelings just because society says they're wrong. If Dean taught him anything it's to shove his finger in the face of those who try to tell him how life is supposed to be lived. Not that he does so very often, but this merits flipping the bird to people who'd try to tell him off, should he fail to hide it.

They lay like that for a very long time. It's getting dark.

"Are we going home?" Sam asks, switching back to English.

"No," Lucifer says.

Sam sucks in a breath and holds it, heart and thoughts racing, tensing up. 

Finally, he lets the breath out and on the long exhale he says "Okay," resigning himself to whatever fate Lucifer decides for him, relaxing again.

"Ok _ay_?" Lucifer asks, sounding dubious.

"Okay," Sam answers without hesitation.

Hands are fisted in his hair and his head is bent back and drawn up to meet Lucifer's gaze. The angle is awkward and straining but the grip in his hair isn't painful, just firm. Lucifer’s looking intensely into his eyes, searching for sincerity perhaps, perhaps motive, perhaps something else. Whatever it is he's searching for he finds it. Then he let's go and smooths Sam's hair back in place.

" _Huh_. How about that," Lucifer says, seemingly to himself.

That's when Sam's stomach makes a loud growl, reminding him that he hasn't eaten more than some snacks since breakfast. Lucifer shoves on his shoulders to make him sit up. When he does, Lucifer digs up his car keys and unlocks the doors.

"Get up front, we're going for pizza," Lucifer tells him.

"Pizza isn't healthy," Sam supplies when he climbs out of the car to get up front.

Lucifer sniggers. "If anything is going to kill you anytime soon, it won't be pizza, Sammy."

Sam shrugs, conceding to the point, and then gets in on the passenger side of the car, pocketing his phone and buckling his seatbelt.

* * *

They share an XL pizza sitting on a bench by a big plaza, people bustling by in the mild night. Lucifer gives small statements about people that Sam points out. _'Drug-abuser from tough love home'. 'Control freak with fear of commitments.' 'Hides grief, fear, and a deep depression under that clowny exterior_.' It's all kinds of awesome and Sam doesn't think he can hide how impressed he is as Lucifer’s looking increasingly smug by the minute.

Back in the car, Sam falls asleep, exhausted from the emotional turbulence of the day. When Lucifer shakes him awake they're parked outside Sam and Dean's apartment. The clock on the dashboard shows 05:13 AM. Sam rubs his eyes. He’s both relieved and disappointed that Lucifer took him back.

"Shit. What am I going to say?"

"You're smart. You'll figure it out," Lucifer answers, not very helpfully.

"Can I see you again?" Sam asks turning to Lucifer.

Lucifer nods and then looks out of the window, he looks a bit sad. Without looking he grips Sam's arm. "Sammy, trust me on this. Don't dig any further." He squeezes the arm bordering on painful, a warning, before he lets go.

Sam remains seated for a moment more, looking at Lucifer, but the man does not turn his head, just keeps staring out of the opposite window. Sam should be used to this by now. He sighs heavily and exits the car. He remains standing, watching as the car drives away. Longer. Staring at the empty street where Lucifer disappeared. An empty space inside of him, as if Lucifer had filled him with his essence and took it away again when he departed.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and switches it on. One missed call from Dean followed by a text telling him that Dean won't be home tonight but there's food in the fridge. Sam sighs in relief. Another text from Ruby asking him to come by tomorrow (today). Then he pockets his phone and makes his way up to the apartment.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if you know several languages you might start seeing a pattern concerning some names. You should no longer, or after the next chapter at least, need the hint it provides. Still that pattern will remain.
> 
> I want all the comments!  
> So, tell me what you think. ^^


	40. Prince of the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late May 7 years ago Mikey and Luci is down by the lake when they spot the Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**Late May, 2007**

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this!"

"I didn't. You simply informed me you were coming along, remember?" Luci grins at Mikey.

Mikey snorts, but follows it up with a soft smile. "Always picky about the details..." He winks at Luci and goes back to looking out over the lake, dangling his toes back and forth in the water.

They're sitting on a small wooden landing-stage under a large tree on the lush shoreline of the lake. There are small wooden landings, docks and quays all around the lake. Used by the locals for their small boats or to fish from. Often they're barely visible within the lush greenery from either the lake or the surrounding paths and roads. Each a hidden refuge on hot summer days. Or spring days, like this for that matter. It's late May. Winter had been drawn out this year and to make up for it, Mother Nature decided to skip spring weather altogether and given them relentless summer heat, since the beginning of May. The world turned from white to green in a heartbeat. Flowers bloom everywhere. Many that normally wouldn't blossom until late June are early, while flowers that ordinarily would have blossomed in March, when this year the ground was still frozen solid and covered with snow, spring up side by side with their summer cousins.

Mikey and Luci are dressed in simple T-shirts, their jeans rolled up to their knees and bare feet dipped in the cold water. They’re sipping a beer each. A piece of rope attached to a net bag with more beer is submerged in the water of the lake to keep them cool. Birds are singing everywhere, insects buzzing and occasional wildlife rustle in the bushes.

Luci loves this. He's always marvelled at the wonder that is life from a grand perspective. How stunningly everything goes together. God's perfect handiwork, beautiful, in a trillion different ways. Take a simple thing as a red rose for an instance. It may look innocuous at first sight but is vastly more complicated than you'll ever imagine by looking at it. Thorns for protection, colour and scent to lure specific insects in for reproduction, ability to create energy from just sunlight and water. And then it can retract its life force deep down into roots and lie dormant for months while winter rage above ground. It can’t live on its own. It creates energy that feeds insects, which either will pollinate it or feed other insects which feed birds and mammals who provide nourishment for plants that can’t create it on it' own. Animals and plants are turned into soil by other plants and insects as they die and the rose needs the soil to live. The complexity is astounding.

"It is my affinity for details you most appreciate about me," Luci points out with a smirk.

And it is. Humans, nothing more than hairless apes, are flawed. Blessed with creativity equal to God’s, and hands to create with, they are hampered by greed and murderous intent that make them blind to how everything fit together and therefore prone to destruction. There is still great beauty in humanity too. He has no problem admitting that. He'll study people the same way he'll study nature, and that makes him see things others miss or deem unimportant. This is his greatest asset and by extension what makes him so valuable to the _Porodica_. His job is to see people, to figure out what they want to hide.

Mikey throws an arm around his shoulder and tugs him closer with a grin, tucking Luci's head against his chest and placing a kiss on the crown of it. "You're right. That's why I love you so much! That - and because you're an idiot, of course," he adds with a laugh and shoves Luci upright again.

"An idiot, am I?" Luci says with a sceptical smirk.

He’s far from it. Born and raised a prince in what is accounted for as royalty, in the world of criminals. The _Porodica_ is spread worldwide―except for the parts of Asia where the Triads and Yakuza war for supremacy―and has a finger in everything from oil to diamonds, weapons, human trafficking, and drugs. They rule by fear, cruelty and wit. There are five factions within the _Porodica_ , each led by a patriarch whose loyalty to each other is unquestionable. Living in different parts of the world as they may be today, they had all been raised together, born by the same mother and bound together by fierce love for each other, cruelty, and a ruthless lust for power.

The five brothers started their journey to carve out today's empire when their mother died. This was the year 1930. The oldest was 10 years old, the youngest 5. They had lived on the streets of Belgrade and slept huddled together in a pile. One would expect a 10-year-old burdened with the responsibility of taking care of four siblings to worry about food and shelter day by day, but already the boy had grand designs, paired with the cruelty and wit to carry them out. A year later they had a house of their own and never needed to go hungry. This was just the beginning. The more their power grew the more they wanted. Their housing got grander each year, yet they still slept in the same bed, huddled together as they had once for survival. There had been whispers about this, but no one lived to spread slander for very long. Once they decided what power they held in Balkan was not enough, they split up. The oldest went to North America where he still lives and is known simply as ' _Otac_ ' meaning ' _Father_ '.

The younger brothers had all gotten children. Wanting for nothing and raised to hold power, these sons and daughters resorted to squabbling amongst themselves, often with lethal outcome. This was unacceptable to _Otac_. He’d ordered his brothers to kill them and start anew. None of them had hesitated even in the slightest. 'Porodica' was the word for 'Family' and nothing is allowed to be put above the family - serious violence against a sibling is a mortal sin. Any children of the brothers born after that, had been sent to _Otac_ to be raised by him. (No daughters survived the first year though. _Otac_ believes they are inferior and that they were the cause for the dissent in the first batch of children.) They are not allowed to know who their father is. It isn't known either if _Otac_ has any children of his own. They are raised to be brothers, loyal to each other and never to love anyone outside the family. 

Luci is one of these children.

"Yes, an idiot. I mean, _come on_! If you weren't, you wouldn’t have chosen to come to this backwater hell hole. You never explained that to me, by the way. Why here? Why not go to one of the big cities and choose a ChHL team? You would have gotten a spot on any of the teams without even using the influence of the _Porodica_. We both could. Instead, you chose a Division 2 team in the middle of nowhere!" Mikey sounds a bit exasperated. He prefers glory and excitement and grandeur.

"We’ve moved up to Division 1 this season. With good recruitment you'll lead us to ChHL too," Luci points out.

"You mean _Raphael_ will lead us to ChHL," Mikey says seriously and Luci meets his eyes. They manage to keep mock serious for about 5 seconds before they burst out laughing, startling a nearby mallard to squawk indignantly at them.

"There’s a number of reasons I chose this place," Luci continues once they've collected themselves. "One of which is the poetical parable of me and the town's name."

Mikey starts laughing. That quiet type of laughter that makes your shoulders shake and is more of a series of short exhales than an actual laugh. "Seriously? 'Lucifer the _fallen_ ' - goes to live in Angel Falls? Boy, you always did over think things!" Mikey says with a grin, eyebrows raised in amusement, his gaze sparkling with mirth.

Luci gives him a smile and then lays back on the warm wood, interlacing his fingers under his head as a pillow and looks up at the blue sky and the few clouds that lazily shift shape as they float by.

"It's not just that. The name is just what caught my attention. But..." Luci sighs contentedly. "It's more. Beautiful nature that surrounds the place. The intricate dynamics between the towns. How on working hours they'll cross over the bridge and get along so well, but the minute they clock out they'll channel any of the discordances in their lives, into animosity towards their town neighbours, yet they get fiercely protective over each other if outsiders somehow threaten them."

Mikey lays down beside him, turns onto his side and props his head up with an elbow. He starts carding through Luci's hair with gentle fingers with his other hand while Luci talks and looks up on the sky above. Mikey's smile is just as gentle and affectionate as the fingers in his hair. A pleasant comfort that warms Luci from within as much as the sun warms the outside.

"The seclusion of the twin towns is a thing I value. It's like a preserve of genuinity. As for the team, it's perfect for what I want. Old and once renowned, now struggling. Free to be rebuilt from ground up and restored to glory. Just see what we accomplished in one season!"

_Otac_ had always encouraged his boys to have a hobby and a normal profession. It’s a good cover for what they really do. A necessary mirage of normalcy that outwardly separates them from any illegal activities. In the public eye _Otac_ is just a very successful old businessman. 'His' children grew up to be doctors, lawyers, company leaders. Each successful in their fields. Luci had declared he wanted to play hockey when he was four. Watching one game had been enough. That was simply what he wanted to do. _Otac_ had watched his every practice the first couple of years, tying his skates for him in the beginning before he was adept enough to do it himself. Ruffling his hair and praising him proudly when he did well. For Luci, hockey was not just a hobby - it was the profession he wanted to pursue and he had told _Otac_ as much when he was 13. The choice to become a professional athlete was accepted. The strenuous practice was always crammed in with the homeschooling in languages, psychology, math, interrogation techniques both verbal and physical, weapons practice and hand to hand combat. Religion, philosophy, history and science was also part of their education.

Looking back on his childhood is a double-edged blade. He remembers sitting curled up in _Otac's_ lap while he read out loud from anything from children's' books to newspapers. The softly sung lullabies and loving goodnight kisses to the temple, when being tucked in at night. Food fights with his brothers, soccer games in the yard, building forts with their blankets after bedtime. Curling up in a big pile in the sofa, watching cartoons together. Helping each other out with their assignments. Laughter was always ringing out through the hallways in their big house.

But then there was the other side. And the laughter was sometimes malicious. He remembers the lessons from the basement. How _Otac_ helped him hold his hand steady on a blade and showed him where to cut to cause the most pain, but keep unconsciousness from setting in. Anatomy lessons were given with live objects, people who had crossed the _Porodica_ one way or the other. Some of his brothers had taken to these lessons very enthusiastically and that was encouraged. Luci wasn’t one of them. It didn't take long to get used to the screaming and begging. To learn how to distance oneself from sympathising and just see it as a chore, yet he could gain no satisfaction from it, unless he found it just.

If somebody had to die, he preferred it quick and efficient. He never understood those of his brothers who made big speeches and drew it out to see terror in their victims' eyes. What's the point in telling a person why they are going to die, if they aren’t going to live long enough to learn the lesson? And not only that. Luci revels in power like any of them. But he craves the truest form of power. Power over people given to him by their own free will, not ripped from them by torture and coercion. He’s born to be feared and worshipped by his own right, not because _Otac_ said so, or because he has the _Porodica_ at his back. That’s something he needs to keep his mouth shut about. You don’t put yourself above the _Porodica_.

All the while _Otac's_ boys got compassion and empathy for other people hammered out of them from the lessons in the basement, they were also given lessons to elevate the love and compassion for each other. Chores that had to be done by all and none got to rest until everyone finished. They were put in dangerous situations where they had to work together to get out unscathed. They were charged with patching each other's wounds and scrapes up and to comfort each other when they were sad or hurt. They were told that they were an exalted breed, born to be worshipped, adored, and feared. True affection is only allowed within the family.

"So that's what you want? Raise the Angels to glory? Win the ChHL Master Cup?" Mikey asks warmly. His nails scrape pleasantly along Luci's scalp and Luci closes his eyes. His lips curve in a faint smile.

"Yes. I like to conquer my own empire, so to speak. With no influence of..." he trails off. 'The _Porodica_ ' hangs unsaid in the air. The Seraphims are owned by the _Porodica_. His number one reason for changing teams.

He has no wish to anger Mikey. Mikey can be a bit put off by Luci's wish to distance himself. Not this time though. No lecture by the three years older man. He feels soft lips press pleasantly against his forehead.

"If that's what you want, then you shall have it," Mikey whispers. The next kiss on the forehead is pressed more firmly with more heat and Luci turns his head away, drawing the line. The lips are gone and the fingers start carding through his hair again.

Luci opens his eyes and sits up. He takes a sip of his beer, emptying it, and then pulls up the net with more beer out of the water using the rope. He drops the empty bottle in the net to be thrown away later, fishes out a fresh beer and lowers the net back into the water. He opens the beer with the bottle opener he has on his keychain and puts the cap in his pocket. The new beer is blessedly cold in his throat compared to the last dredge in the other bottle. Mikey’s still lying on his side watching Luci's back.

"I spoke to _Otac_ yesterday," Mikey says.

"Oh? And what did he say?" Luci asks, no inflections in his voice.

"He wondered when you were going to be done with this temper tantrum of yours and come back."

Luci grunts noncommittally.

"I told him you wouldn't."

That makes Luci turn around and look at Mikey with a frown. Mikey is still smiling though, eyes warm. "And how did he react?"

"With sadness. I don't think he believes me. He misses you, you know? He forgave you your disobedience some time ago. He hopes this rebellion will end and that you'll come back. He wants you by his side again."

"And you don't think I'll go back," Luci says. It's a statement. But also an underlying question because Mikey’s always lecturing him and pestering him that he should return. Conflict within the family stresses Mikey out the same way a border collie is stressed out by seeing every sheep in the herd take off in different directions.

Mikey sits up and once again puts his arm around Luci, tucking his head in under his chin. Always physical with his affection. Luci likes it, but sometimes it gets too much. Vibrations travel through Luci's scalp when Mikey speaks. "I knew you'd never come back. I knew that the moment you said you were leaving. That's why I came with you. Couldn't stand the thought of losing you," Mikey says and then empties his beer in big gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing against Luci's cheek. Once the bottle is drained he throws it in the reeds.

_Otac_ isn't supposed to have favourites. The brothers all loved him above all else. Luci used to be no different. They worshipped and adored him, saw him as placed above God himself. Yet for some reason _Otac_ had an extra soft spot for Luci. It became clear to anyone within the family that Luci was his prince. The star that shone brighter than anyone else. Instead of causing jealousy, the others adopted this view to different extents. Luci doesn’t know why _Otac_ paid him special attention. Maybe it was because he _sees_ people. He remembers sitting on the floor of _Otac's_ study when he was five or six years old. He was playing quietly with some action figures in a corner while _Otac_ sat at his desk. A man had entered and was questioned about something that had gone wrong. When the man left Luci had asked _Otac_ "Why did he say it was an accident when it wasn't?". Luci had just wanted to know why, but _Otac_ had started asking Luci how he knew the man had been lying and in the end all that had unravelled a small scam, a couple of pawns who had tried to cheat the _Porodica_ out of money.

After that Luci's place had been with _Otac_ more often than not. Just being present in the room during meetings. A silent observer, playing on the floor, doing school assignments or basically anything. He'd learned to school his face and body not to give away his own thoughts so no one present would know if they were caught in a lie or that they were being evaluated. Of course, Luci has tells. Everyone has. But few people are at the skill level he is, and can read him. He enjoyed that job. He enjoyed making files on people, finding out their strengths and weaknesses, finding things in their personality that might seem irrelevant to the subject matter, but wasn't. This is something he’s brought with him to hockey, and that contributes to their success. For instance, one of the best players in an opposing team had recently become a father. The man had lost his own father as a small child. This had made him afraid the same thing would happen to his own newborn daughter, so when the team, on Luci's advice, had been ordered to be extra rough on him, the man had become very careful, afraid of injury, and thus less inclined to try as hard to score, when he before hadn’t given a damn about the risks he took.

You don’t leave the _Porodica_ alive. So despite disobedience and the dissent that had created a rift between Luci and _Otac_ he’s still mixed up with it, if only part way. He has no personal contact with _Otac_. Rarely with any of his other brothers either. The only reason he’s still working jobs occasionally, is that Mikey demands it. Mikey needs it. If they don’t, he'd get bored and take playthings. He does anyway, but much more rarely than he would if they didn't work. It’s a small price to pay to stay away from the innermost core of the _Porodica_ ―to get to do his own thing. If he’s lucky _Otac's_ patience with him will be endless. If not, then he'll have to figure out what to do, when the time comes.

Luci’s glad Mikey is here with him. He loves Mikey endlessly and it’d be lonely if he wasn’t here. But he longs for someone that understands him, not only humours him, when it comes to how he views the world. Michael would never fully understand.

"You need to get laid," Mikey suddenly says, breaking Luci from his reverie.

Luci pushes himself off Mikey with a discontent groan. "Please don't start with this shit again. You're just projecting your own boredom on me," he protests.

"No. I'm serious! Who do you want? I'll get you anyone. Woman, man? Boy, girl? Goat? This self-imposed celibacy you've got going isn't healthy!"

Luci burst out laughing. "A _goat_? How would that be more healthy?" he croaks in-between the laughter.

"Hey, I don't judge!" Mikey says, holding up his hands defensively and joining in the laughter.

Luci’s so tired of this discussion. He'd never felt any inclination to have sex. He can appreciate touching someone or be touched, but once those touches turn into greed and heat, his body just crawls with a feeling of wrongness.No matter how much he tried to explain, Mikey doesn’t understand. It’s hard to explain because he doesn’t fully understand it himself, he just accepts it. He can get an erection just like anyone else, but it isn't paired with a drive to _do_ anything with it. He can be attracted to people, appreciate beauty, and feel affection. But not even once has he had the wish to fuck somebody, or even masturbate. He had tried the latter a couple of times when he was a young teen, due to Mikey's relentless insistence, and his body played along well. Except release didn't come with any particular satisfaction. It felt good, sure, but a hard workout is much more rewarding in the physical sense. He probably could do the deed Mikey keeps pestering him about, but he sees no reason to put himself through it.

Suddenly the surrounding stillness was broken by voices.

"Hey, Sammy! Last one in has to do the dishes tonight!"

"Screw you, Dean! You cheated!"

Mikey and Luci turn their heads towards where the voices are coming from. Further down the shoreline, there are some smooth bare cliffs jutting out in the water and beside them a small stretch of sandy beach. Dean Winchester comes careering out on the cliff in shorts, casting a towel aside and throwing himself into the water with a huge splash. Sam’s jogging after him at a slower pace.

" _ **SONOFABITCH IT'S COLD!!!**_ " Dean screams when he surfaces again, gasping and flailing his arms in the water.

Sam’s stopped by the edge and is now laughing at him. "Told you, Dean! You shouldn't always jump head first into things."

Dean grins, still taking shocked breaths but quickly regaining control. " _Aww_ , Sammy! Don't be such a wuss! If you don't play you can't win, right?! Don't worry, I've gotcha!"

Sam sticks his tongue out to Dean but drops his towel, takes a couple of deep breaths and then makes a great leap out in the water, landing a great deal more gracefully than his brother.

" **FUCKING _HELL_ DEAN!!!** " he yells when he breaks the surface and Dean cackles happily.

Luci finds himself watching the scene with a grin splitting his face. He finds the carefree happiness the brothers display contagious. They're splashing water on each other and swimming into more shallow water where Sam climbs up to stand legs bent on Dean's shoulders underwater and then is catapulted off, when Dean rises up and Sam launches himself backwards by straightening his legs at the same time. Both of them are basically squealing with laughter and throwing teasing remarks at each other. The warm feeling Luci gets from watching them is suddenly ripped from him.

"Fucking mudmonkeys!" Mikey sneers, watching the scene with hateful eyes. "Who's the boy?"

Warning bells go off in Luci's head and a cold lump forms in his stomach, heart rate increasing. His smile is wiped from his face.

When he doesn't answer, Mikey turns around and pins him with a sharp look.

"You know who he is, now _report_." His voice brooks no argument.

"Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester's only living blood relative. Just turned 14 May the second. Recently joined Free Will's youth division. Bookish type. Helps out part-time at Singer's Hardware. Straight A student." Luci wants to bite his tongue off.

Mikey turns back to watch the brothers. His expression slowly turning to one of hungry malice.

"Don't touch them, Mikey. Don't pick your playthings locally," Luci urges without inflections in his voice, keeping his face as neutral as possible. It's not the first time he’s asked Mikey to hold back. Though, before it has been purely for practical reasons. This time, he finds himself feeling very protective of the younger Winchester, and by extension his brother too. Dangerous feelings to have, a death sentence even, both for himself and the Winchesters, should Mikey find out his motivation is based on emotions rather than practicality. And Luci has grown fond of them, even the older one in a distant sort of way. Dean might be an alley rat, but he isn't a run of the mill kind of guy. He has inner strength that makes him bounce up again every time he’s beaten down. He’s not fuelled by greed. He has an underlying sense of righteousness and loyalty that Luci respects him for. And Sam... Luci still can't figure out what it is about the boy that draws him in. He’s special. To Luci, he seems so pure and uncorrupted. A shining beacon in a world of darkness. The boy's presence brings him contentment like nothing before. Sam is **_his_**! The feeling of ownership rolls like a fireball in his gut and courses like acid in his veins.

Mikey makes a noncommittal sound. Then he turns to Luci again with a big smile. "That would be unwise indeed, mudmonkeys or not. Get me a new beer will you?"

Luci does as he says. Aware that Mikey’s looking very carefully at him and that the smile he’s wearing isn’t a genuine one. He opens the bottle, puts the cap in his pocket with the other ones, and hands Mikey his beer before drinking his own. He wonders if it shows on the outside that he has personal interest in the Winchester boys. No one knows him as well as Mikey, after all.

The Winchester brothers climb up on the cliff and lay down on their towels to dry in the sun. They're both still smiling and occasionally laughing, but now they're talking too quietly to discern what they're saying from here.

Mikey once again tugs Luci to his side. This time Luci puts his head against his chest by himself to lenify him. A hand strokes his hair. For the first time since they came to Angel Falls, Luci feels a bitter taste of regret Mikey came with him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to put a label on Luci's sexuality if you wish. Maybe that should be in the tags? I don't know. That side of the spectrum is opposite of mine and so undefined. The only thing I got from doing research was that there is no wrong or right here. I'm pretty sure the car scene would have played out differently if Luci was on my side of the spectrum, age difference or not, considering how drawn to each other the boys are. I've chosen to paint Luci this way to preserve him as an exalted being and keep 'the perfect vessel' thing in canon somewhat intact when both of them are human. It's complicated.
> 
> Hah. I just this instant realised that what _Otac_ did to the first batch of children is very much what God did when he sent the flood to the world. And when he asked whatshisname to scarify his son. Huh. Didn't think of that when I wrote but any pre-Jesus biblical similarities in Lucifer's family dynamics is by all means not wrong.
> 
> As always, I live for your comments. :)


	41. Smokin' Hot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Media is Cas' new bestie while he's being a manipulating ass. Dean reacts and takes comfort in an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Smoking.  
> Why is that even a warning? O.o Never mind physical and mental abuse in this fic, never mind tremendous amounts of alcohol, but no. I've got to warn about occasional smoking. -.-' You know what? I'll just put it in the tags. *puts it in the tags*
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Bree McKenna is an OC from [Tiny Vessels.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2526044/chapters/5613683) I’m paying homage to a favourite writer pair so off you go and read it. ^^ Fanfic OC character guest starring in other fanfics. Who would've thunk it?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**BITING COLD**

* * *

Every television in the Roadhouse show the Angels vs the Hometown Tigers game, something unthinkable before Cas entered their life with his squinty locked-on-target-can’t-be-avoided-prepare-for-impact- _holy-shit-Blue_ stare and adorkable ways. True, maybe not everybody is quite so affected by those eyes as Dean is, but still. Sam and Cas’ bromance has effects that spread like ripples on the water amongst those close to the Winchesters. It’s kind of ironic really, that today the teams are supporting each other all the while still acting as each other’s arch nemesis outwardly. And the battle in the standings has never been so tight before, with both teams clawing at the top position.

Most of Team Free Will is gathered here tonight to watch the game along with Jo, Pam, and Andrea. Even Bobby has come along for once, although Dean suspects he’s only here to pine after Ellen. Dean has made a decision to skip the alcohol. He’s still cringing on the inside after finding out he'd been drunk-dialling Cas to say _fuck-knows-what_ , not to mention the article written about him full of paparazzi pics of him at second base with chicks he doesn’t even remember hooking up with. Cas, of course, ( _Of course!_ ), had seen it. It’s the usual _Winchester Luck_ ™ at work. Although truth be told, he’d very much created his own 'luck' this time. 

He hasn't heard from Cas for days. Not since Cas had propositioned him in front of Sam over the speaker phone. Since then, nothing. Not a peep. No texts, no phone calls. Even worse, Cas isn’t answering his calls or texts. Dean hadn't even realised that Cas _always_ answered his calls, until he no longer did. Going through his call history on his phone he could see that even all those drunk calls made in the middle of the night had been answered. Dean would have given his right arm to know what he'd said to Cas during those.

_Fuck!_

Dean pushes away from the bar and heads for the exit, digging in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He doesn’t even bother hiding it. If Sam sees him, well fuck him! It’s either that, or drinking himself into oblivion again.

Yeah, because that has worked out _soo_ well for him this far.

_Shit._ He's really fucked up bad this time.

He didn't bother grabbing his jacket before he went outside. The cold hit him like a wall, contrasting with the warmth from inside. He welcomes the physical discomfort that wraps around him like a blanket of icy needles—it just matches the frozen wasteland inside of him. He walks to the end of the building, tapping out a cigarette as he goes. Pocketing the packet, he lights up the cig and lets the lighter follow the pack back into his pocket. Then he draws a deep long pull of smoke and leans against the wall. It isn’t the same. He’s smoked too often these last couple of days to be hit with the calming nicotine kick right away. Even so, it’s a comfort.

He blows smoke rings as he exhales and watches them dissipate slowly, thinking about the cigarette the two of them had shared so brazenly behind Sam's back.

He doesn’t get Cas. Sure, he can understand if the guy had finally grown tired of him and was giving him the finger. He hadn't even called for Dean's birthday, which hurt more than Dean cared to admit. What he _had_ done is fucking _tweeted_ a message to Dean.

" _Beauty is sometimes enhanced by age. Very much so in the case of one certain green-eyed incubus. You'll receive my B-day gift in twin towns._ "

Dean wouldn't even have known about it if Sam hadn't been a massive nerd who follows practically _everybody_ on Twitter. Dean doesn’t know how to interpret the message. The responses it has gathered seem to think he’s referring to the next Angels VS Free Will game, but fans don’t know about the close relationship between Castiel and the Winchesters. Sam confirmed that Cas has admitted to buying a gift for Dean, but he doesn’t know what it is. This makes Dean confused as fuck. Why would Cas ignore him, and use fucking Twitter to communicate?

And Cas is _everywhere._ Apparently, he’s living the high life, hanging with celebrities right now, and that had caught the media's attention like nothing else. It makes Cas the favourite subject to write about for all of the twin town papers. Not one day has passed without Castiel gracing the front page looking like he’s stepped straight out from a fashion ad, side by side with A-list actors, musicians, and athletes. 

_I mean, **come on**! _ Dean thinks. _That's just fucked up!_

Cas isn't like that. Is he? It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who so enthusiastically played with Lego, wore nerdy TV-show T-shirts, and got entranced by Mr. Fizzles.

It had begun the day after the phone call. After that cryptic message—" _Give me a good valid reason._.."—Cas has been on television on one of the major sports channels playing a round of golf with friggin' Tiger Woods! He isn’t very good at it but that doesn’t matter, it’s good publicity. Since then, he's been seen with people like Beyoncé, LeBron, Sandra Bullock, and—most irksome of them all—Matt Bomer from _White Collar_. That rubs Dean the wrong way, because the actor is really good looking _and_ openly gay. He’s in a relationship, but still, Dean can't get a hold of the burning jealousy he feels about such a good looking gay man hanging out with _**his**_ Angel.

The cigarette has burnt down to the filter without Dean noticing. He drops it with a curse when it burns his fingers. His hands and face are numbed by the cold by now, and he’s shivering. He doesn’t care. He quickly digs up the pack and gets a new cig out, determined to actually smoke the damned thing this time. It takes a couple of tries to get a flame from the lighter, chilled as it is. It’s dark outside except for the lights above the parking lot, and light spilling out of the windows. In this cold, the snow glitters like a blanket of diamonds wherever light reaches it, but Dean can't appreciate its beauty.

He has no claim on Cas and he knows it. He never had. He’s too much of a coward to properly act on what is between them. He has slept around like a cheap slut trying to get over Cas, based on the fact that the stupid Angel is a guy. So what if they aren't together and it can't be accounted for as cheating? It _feels_ like cheating. He acutely remembers what Cas had said. "I am not. Have never been. And will never become. Somebody's _second_ choice!"

And damned straight he isn't! He’s fucking perfect and he’s all Dean can think about. The longing has shot sky high now that Cas has broken off contact and Dean has stopped numbing his emotions with booze. Maybe Cas had played him? Maybe it had been something genuine from Cas' side too? He doesn’t know, he just knows that he’d gotten his chance and totally blown it. Now _his_ Angel is out of reach.

Of course, _of course_ , he had to realise he wants Cas, more than he cares about that he’s a guy and what that means, now that he’s out of his grasp. Of course, _of course_ , he had to go and figure out that he doesn’t care what wingboy's motive is, now that he’d lost interest in Dean. He'd rather be wingboy's friend with benefits and have his heart crack in the corners, than this devastating emptiness left inside of him in the wake of Cas' radio silence.

He hears the door open and turns his head to see Sam poke his head out. He takes a deep drag of smoke and braces himself for the upcoming scolding. It doesn’t come. Sam, except for an initial frown at the cigarette, just gives him a concerned puppy look and comes outside. He’s wearing his team jacket and carrying Dean's in his hands.

Dean watches in silence as his little brother comes up to him and hands him the jacket. Dean grunts a thanks with the cigarette pinched in his mouth, while he puts the jacket on and digs his beanie out of its pocket. Putting the garments on only accentuates how cold he is, and he’s grateful to Sam for the gesture.

"You've been out here for a long time, are you alright?" Sam asks and leans back against the wall beside Dean.

Dean throws him a don't-ask-stupid-questions-look. "Peachy," he answers dryly.

Sam smiles ruefully and looks down at the hard packed snow underneath their feet. "Yeah. I figured. You heard anything from the girl lately?"

"Who?"

"The girl you're in love with," Sam says, looking up at Dean again.

Dean snorts in amusement and shakes his head. "No, and I don't want to talk about it. How's the game going?" He jerks his head towards the window, and everyone still inside.

"It's almost over. Looks like the Angels are going to win by two points. You missed a friggin' awesome goal by Cas." Sam smiles.

"Oh yeah? We'll have to call and congratulate him when it's over," Dean says. At least Cas will pick up if Sam calls. And Sam will put it on speaker without a thought. 

"He didn't tell you? He's busy tonight." Sam grins.

Sam doesn’t know Cas is ignoring him. He takes for granted they are talking like they always had done. Dean’s not eager to tell him otherwise because he'd have to explain _why_.

"No, he didn't. What's he up to?" Dean asks, shaking his head.

Sam's grin could split his face. "He has a date! And you’ll never guess with whom!" Sam’s practically beaming with excitement.

Dean feels like he's been punched in the gut. He's gone hot and cold all over. It's like the ground disappeared beneath his feet and he’s falling into an abyss of darkness, his mouth has gone dry and chest constricting. He knew it could happen of course. But somehow he never really believed Castiel would see other people.

NO! NO! _**NO**_! Not _HIS_ Angel! Cas is _HIS_ and nobody is allowed to touch him!!!

Somehow he manages to keep a straight face despite the angry jealousy roaring inside of him. "Who is it?"

"Bree McKenna!" Sam answers, all but bouncing on his heels.

" _The_ Bree McKenna?! Oscar-winning, voted hottest woman in Hollywood, Bree McKenna?!!" Dean's jaw drops and he stares at Sam as if it’s some elaborate joke. But no.

"Yeah! Dude sure knows how to pick 'em!" 

The jealousy surges tenfold and Dean fights the impulse to ram his fist into the wall.

"What the _Hell_!"

Sam frowns. "You don't sound happy for him."

"Some airheaded bimbo actress. She doesn't deserve him," Dean snaps irritably.

Sam gives him a fully powered bitch face and crosses his arms, straightening away from the wall.

"Dude! You're being a total dick right now! You're just jealous _you_ can't land a girl like that. Just because _your_ love life is going to Hell right now is no reason to begrudge Cas for having success in his!"

The words cut like knives in Dean, conjuring vivid pictures of exactly _what_ Cas’ love life would look like by the end of the night. It unlocks the dam of red-hot anger always simmering deep underneath, down in the core of him. At least he has the presence of mind to know he needs to get away before unleashing it on Sam.

"Whatever. I'm outta here." Dean flicks the cigarette butt away and stomps away towards Baby, ignoring Sam calling out after him. 

Getting in the car, Dean wastes no time tearing out of the parking lot and flooring the gas pedal as soon as he reaches the road.

He doesn't see Sam's frown shift to a contemplative expression as he watches his big brother head for the car and disappear in a rush.

* * *

**KEEPING UP APPEARANCES**

* * *

"I still think this is a bad idea. Last time we got him jealous you came home with a bruised cheek," Gadreel says with a concerned look on his face. He sits on the big bed in one of the rooms of the penthouse suite they had managed to secure for themselves this time.

Castiel smiles at the memory while he knots his tie in the mirror. "That. Was not an unpleasant experience for me, Gadreel."

Lucifer sniggers from the wall he’s leaning on, arms crossed over his chest. Gadreel turns towards him as if asking for help in this argument. "Are you not opposed to this? Winchester has quite a temper on him."

Lucifer smirks and shakes his head. "If Cassie had come home bleeding and bruised from top to toe, still radiating happiness as he did then, I would not lift a finger to interfere. Believe me, Gadreel, I've had people around me with much stranger preferences than that." He winks at Castiel through the mirror.

Gadreel makes a dissatisfied grunt but bites down on his protests.

Castiel doesn’t begrudge him his misgivings. Gadreel’s twin brother Ezekiel had gotten shot by a jealous girlfriend and is paralyzed from the waist down—and that was on unfounded suspicions, to boot.

"Oh, cheer up, Gaddy!" Balthazar chirps as he takes a waistcoat from its hanger and holds it up for Castiel to thread his arms in. "Winchester is on the other side of the country at the moment, he'll hardly pose a threat. Besides, Cassie here can handle his boyfriend."

"He's _not_ my boyfriend!" Castiel protests for the hundredth time this week and proceeds to button up the slim fitting grey waistcoat. All three of his teammates snigger behind him. He knows they are just referring to Dean as his boyfriend to annoy him.

"Sure he is, darling! He just hasn't been properly informed about it yet." Balt grins at him.

Castiel rolls his eyes in exasperation and proceeds to fix his hair. He parts it on the side and uses a tiny bit of hair product to get some volume. He turned around and holds his hands out to his sides, palms open. "How do I look?"

He’s wearing black bootcut jeans, a belt, grey waistcoat, red tie, and a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, topped off with some leather bracelets and one of his expensive watches.

Balt hums appreciatively. "You look fabulous, sweetheart. It's a shame we have this 'not-within-the-team rule or I'd―" he cuts himself off when Lucifer clears his throat and shoots him a warning look.

Alfie pokes his head into the room. "They just called from the front desk. She's on her way up!" he squeaks, unable to hide his excitement.

"That's our cue," Lucifer says, leading the way into the living room. 

Every single member of the team is gathered there, all wanting to meet Bree. Lucifer’s the only one to seem indifferent. Even Castiel is a little nervous about it. But then again, that’s perhaps more to do with whether or not the plan would work on Dean. Keeping himself from calling or texting is hard. It’s even harder not to answer when Dean calls or texts—or sends invites via the chess app. It tests his self-control to the limit. And all this, no matter how much Luci ensures him of the opposite, could still drive Dean _away_ from him rather than spur him into action.

There’s a knock on the door and Balt goes to open it, greeting Bree like an old friend. She’s absolutely stunning. Long, thick, glossy auburn hair, big brown eyes framed by long lashes, a wide smile that dimples her cheeks, and a body with curves in the right places yet thin enough to satisfy Hollywood standards. She wears diamond earrings and a red dress that sparkles when she moves.

Cas waits while his team members get to meet her, getting hugs and taking photos. Once that’s done Luci ushers everybody out except for Balt, Cas, and Zachariah, who’s part of coordinating the evening.

"Last but not least, this is Castiel," Balt introduces, leading Bree up to him with a hand in the small of her back.

"Oh my! You weren't lying when you said he was gorgeous," she says to Balt and winks at Cas when he shakes her hand. "I might actually enjoy this for real."

Cas slips into his role and offers her his most charming smile. "I'll make sure it will be a pleasurable experience for you," he promises her and gestures for her to sit down on the couch, taking his place beside her when she does.

"I can't believe it's true. You being here... That might mean the rest of Balt's stories are true too," Zack says.

Balt claps a hand over his heart with a mock-horrified expression. "You think I would lie to you?"

"Yes. No. Of course not, but some stories are hard to believe. Like the one with the ostrich for an instance," Zack answers.

That brings chuckles all around.

"Yes, that one _is_ hard to believe," Cas agrees and Balt shrugs with an amused smile.

"How about the one when he performed in an impromptu drag show in Singapore along with Bree McKenna?" Bree chimes in with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"So it's really true then?" Zack asks, still not willing to buy it completely.

Bree laughs and nods. "It certainly is! Back then I wasn't famous yet. I met dear Baltie here on a family vacation and he totally turned my life upside down when we spent that week together. He is the one who convinced me to drop out of medical school and go chase my dream of becoming an actress. I've never regretted it since."

It’s a bit of a wonder why Balt stayed with the Angels, playing hockey, when he has such a tremendous network and can do more or less what he wants. He has a gift. A gift of making people remember him in a fond way, even if they just spent a couple of hours with him. He remembers them too and saved their phone numbers. When he calls they fall all over themselves to help him out, something that became exceedingly clear when they decided to set their plan in motion. Not only does he know lots of people within a great many professions, but if he doesn’t know the right people, the people he knows _do_. Such was the case with Tiger Woods. Balt had never met him, but he knew somebody who knew somebody whom Tiger owed a favour and - _BAM_ \- just like that Cas was playing a morning round of golf with the man on live television. All to make sure that wherever Dean is in the country, media will direct a spotlight on Cas.

They settle to go over the plan. First, he and Bree will eat at the fanciest restaurant in the city, a window seat has already been booked. Then they will walk to a nearby park where they will kiss. It has good background scenery for the pictures that will be taken by paparazzi. After that, they will take a cab that will be waiting for them and go back to the hotel. They will make out in the lobby, and before the elevator doors shut they'll give the appearance of things getting hot and heavy. A photographer will be placed in the lobby ready to document it. Once back in the suite they can finally drop the pretence and Balt will 'take over' the date. Zack will make a few anonymous calls to magazines to tip them off of Bree being on a date with Cas and at what restaurant to ensure there’s extra paparazzi around. After that, they can only hope Dean will find out about the date one way or another. And that it has the right effect of course…

* * *

**I FELL INTO A BURNING RING OF FIRE**

* * *

The smell of gasoline stings in his nostrils and makes him dizzy. He loves it. Rage thrums in his body yet he’s calm, controlled, and methodical. He can hear his pulse in his ears like waves beating a jagged cliff. Every 'whoosh' of his pulse seems to whisper;

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

Interspersed with that steady beat his imagination shows him scenes of what possibly goes on right now, like clips of porn playing.

 

_Bree riding Cas, moaning his name wantonly while he bends up to suck on her nipples._

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

_Cas on top of Bree, thrusting and whispering "Such a good girl. Perfect for me... Nobody is as beautiful as you..." sweetly in her ear._

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

_Cas taking Bree from behind, pounding into her furiously while wrapping her hair around one of his hands, bending her head backwards._

 

It makes him want to beat the living shit out of someone. He _knows_ he logically has no claim, but emotions aren't logical. And right now he can't give a fuck. He needs to ventilate this roaring fire inside of him.

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

Cas is HIS! This is worse than the Lisa incident because he’s powerless to stop it. He’s tried calling Cas about 20 times already, to no avail since his phone remains stubbornly shut off.

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

He empties the contents of the last gasoline can on the straw at his feet and heads for the barn doors. Once there he digs up his matchbox, lights a match and flings it inwards.

 

_Cas sitting on a couch, Bree naked on the floor below, her lips wrapped around his cock and his hands on the back of her head, pushing her down and pulling her up over it. Moaning and saying things like "Yeah baby, just like that! You're soo good!"_

 

**_Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!_ **

 

He watches in satisfaction how the gasoline on the floor catches fire, rapidly spreading to the drenched hay and through the barn, before he turns and walks away, puts the least possible safety distance between himself and the burning barn. Then he turns back to watch the fire. It doesn’t take long before the whole inside is aflame. He’s mesmerized like always. He wishes he could watch from within, like an elemental. But sadly he isn't impervious to the hazard the fire poses. 

Mentally he feeds the fire with every picture of Cas and Bree that pop up. He feeds it with every memory of every beating he’s ever received. With every painful word ever directed at him. "Useless", "Dumb", "Good for nothing shit!" Every time he had to steal, cheat, or go hungry to keep Sam fed. Every time he’d had to forsake his own wishes to keep the world from taking his brother from him.

Flames start licking up the roof and even at this distance heat stings the bare skin of his face and makes his eyes turn dry and tear up. Still his anger burns. Searing through his veins like poison. The barn is remote and some poor schmuck farmer is losing his winter feed. Dean doesn’t care. He didn't check to see if there was anybody hiding in the barn. If there was and they didn't wake up or flee when he doused the place in gasoline, then the fuckers _deserve_ to burn! If anybody should show up here now and try to remove him from the spot he'd fucking put a bullet in their skull! He almost wishes somebody _will_ show up. But it's the middle of the night in a remote farmland part, far from the nearest house. Not even the growing pillar of fire and smoke draws attention.

The fire is breathtakingly beautiful. A chaotic power that reverberates within his soul. The loud noise it causes mingles with the steady beat of ' _Mine!_ ' inside of him. He isn’t afraid of it. Not even when a piece of the wall falls off, sending debris flying his way. He’s used to being scared shitless all the time, but the fire burns that away. It always has. He remembers playing in the woods as a child when a forest fire broke out. (Not his doing sadly.) He ended up trapped between a rock wall and fire on all sides, the heat being so intense it blistered his skin, the smoke and heat almost choking him, burning the inside of his lungs with each breath. He was saved by a sudden change of wind. Not even then had he been afraid, only awed to the point of ecstasy.

Taken out of context he remembers Cas saying " _Some fires are too extraordinary and beautiful when they burn hot_..." and he gets an intense wish to share this with Cas now that the flames are at their peak. He imagines Cas standing behind him, leaning in and whispering " _Good boy.._." in his ear. It feels so real that he shivers and hairs prick at the back of his neck. It's absurd. He’s so far from a good boy as he can get at this moment. Temporarily freed of a conscience, of guilt, duty, and angst. Purified and at his dirtiest at the same time. Capable of anything. But the fantasy of sharing this part of him with Cas is fucking ecstasy. For some reason, it turns him on like nothing else, makes him hard inside his jeans within seconds. Maybe that's why he gets the impulse. He takes out his phone and switches on the camera. Aims it at the roaring fire and hits record. It’s only 11 seconds worth of film but he sends it to Cas without hesitation or any attached text message. Later he might fret over it, now it doubles the feeling of Cas being here.

He stands there and watches for a long time. Feeds the flames with his negative emotions and memories, until only hot lumps of coal remain of the fire both internal and external. Then he turns back to his car.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you know how I feel about your comments?  
>  _ **“Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!”**_


	42. Give Me One Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas isn’t subtle. Sam figures it out. Dean listens to the radio. (Angel radio? Heh.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**ANGEL RADIO**

* * *

Cas wakes up with a jerk after a very fitful sleep. Every time he'd woken up he'd thrown a look at the clock at the nightstand to see that only an hour or 45 minutes had passed. He’s itching to switch on his phone, but part of the plan is that any time he’s supposed to be on a date he has to be out of reach. If Dean wants to stop him from seeing anybody, he'd have to thwart the rendezvous _before_ it happens. If he fails, pictures of Cas' supposed conquests will be all over the press.

That’s all very well and good, but it’s working under three assumptions out of their control. One - Dean is as interested in Cas as they believe. Two - Dean will see the things that happen through media. And three - Dean is as possessive as the Pam and Lisa incidents had hinted at. According to Luci, he is, and with how far the two of them had gotten before they'd been separated, Luci is convinced this will spur Dean into action, taken into account how impulsive and responsive he is. Cas prays he’s right.

The clock shows 07:36 AM and Cas falls back onto the pillow with a frustrated groan. Too early. This will be all over the news back in twin towns with the morning edition papers. But then they'd still have to wait and see when the news reached Dean, and if any reaction would come of it.

The date in itself had gone well. Bree is a smart, funny, and beautiful woman and none of them had to fake attraction even if it was all a big act. Bree had been in medical school aiming to become an open heart surgeon when she met Balt. She hadn’t dared to follow her acting dreams, thinking the competition would be too hard, which is funny considering her secondary choice of occupation not exactly being a simple choice either. Her parents had been supportive when she decided to leave college to pursue her acting dream, wanting her to be happy rather than being able to boast about having a heart surgeon in the family. Her acting career had taken off almost immediately after her arrival to Hollywood, unlike so many others’. It had been an interesting conversation over good food. Everything else had gone according to plan too. After a heated make-out session in the lobby and in the elevator, Bree had confessed to not being averse to continue all the way. Had his head not been full of green eyes and freckles he might have taken her up on the offer. Instead, he left her to be reacquainted with Balt and went to bed.

Luci, Cas, and Balt each occupied one room in the three bedroom penthouse suite. A faint scent of coffee wafting through the door accompanied with muted mumbles of voices announced that they are awake. Cas doubts he'll be able to go back to sleep, so he gives in and switches his phone on. It doesn’t take long before it begins to chirp. 23 texts announcing Dean's number had called at this and that time but left no message. It sets Cas’ heart aflutter. Dean knows! Dean had somehow gotten the information even before the actual date, according to the timestamp on the first call, something that can only be ascribed to Sam.

A moment passes and then there’s an incoming multimedia message with a video attached, timestamped 04:23 AM. He opens it. It's short but makes his breath stutter and heart speed up. The roller-coaster in his stomach swoops in free-falls and loops. The barn in the video is a burning inferno, like a manifestation of what he sees in Dean. _This_ is what he saw in Dean's eyes the first time they met. _This_ is what he saw when Dean hauled him into his car after he'd made out with Lisa. He covets this side of Dean like nothing else, the part he cannot control. He’s sure Dean filmed this, not chose it randomly on youtube. Whether he happened upon it or lit it himself Cas has no clue. But the second option appeals to Cas. The thought is thrilling as well as arousing.

He _needs_ to respond to this! But he’s 'prohibited' to send Dean any texts directly so instead he opens Twitter and promptly sends a tweet.

" _You know who you are, boric acid and copper sulfate. To me, that was true angel flames! And yet they can never burn as hot as you._.."

It’s cryptic to say at least, and would confuse his ever-growing number of followers. Dean doesn’t have Twitter so the chance of him actually seeing it is slim. Cas doesn’t care. If Dean sees it he'd know it’s directed at him. Boric acid and copper sulfate both burn with green flames which Dean knows. The candles they’d used for Cas' birthday had been called angel flames. Sam might possibly get the references. He had, after all, admitted to Sam that he’s attracted to his brother, even if he omitted the tiny little detail that he is head over heels in love with Dean as well.

With the visual verification that Luci is right, it's time to take the next step. He just needs to find a good medium for the message Dean is about to receive.

* * *

Sam’s sitting in Bobby's office, watching Dean work under the hood of a green Toyota Camry through the glass window of the office door. Dean’s blasting the radio at high volume and is, in general, a foul-tempered asshole today.

Sam's brain doesn’t want to believe what his eyes and ears are trying to tell him more and more insistently each day. He needs proof. Preferably written confessions and photo evidence. But still, stranger things have happened...

Sam drums his fingers on the desk and looks down on Castiel's tweet again. Green fire, angel flames, burning hot. This is meant for his brother, no doubt. Sam narrows his eyes and stares through the window at Dean again. Dean who just happened to freak out about hearing Cas had a date. Coincidence? Hardly. Well, maybe if it had been _only_ that. But since Sam had entertained the notion that there’s a tiny possibility that Dean and Cas... well... had _something_ going on between them... Since then he can suddenly see a list longer than Santa's, full of coincidences.

Sam startles when the phone starts vibrating in his hand. It’s an incoming call from Cas. Sam answers it. "Hey, Cas!"

"Hello, Sam."

"How'd the date go?" Sam asks with a smile, already having seen the answer to that question on every front page on the three twin town papers.

"It went exactly as expected, thank you. Bree is a very interesting person."

"I bet!" Sam grins.

"I got you a signed photograph of her," Cas tells him and you can hear the smile in his voice.

"That's great! Thank you!"

"You're welcome. I miss you. What are you up to?"

This is one of the things Sam appreciates with Cas. He has no problem expressing affection verbally, no fear of losing masculinity by stating things like 'I miss you' or 'You make me feel at home', even if it shows vulnerability.

"Yeah. Miss you too. S'kinda boring without you. Especially now. I'm in the garage with Dean. I'm s'posed to help Bobby with his computer, but I keep being distracted by Dean being a jerk. Thankfully he's occupied right now." Sam pays extra attention to Cas' reaction to the mention of Dean.

"Oh? What's he doing?"

"He is buried under the hood of a Toyota Camry, blasting the radio loud enough to scare the neighbours."

"Which radio station?" There's a hint of urgency in Cas' voice that makes Sam's brows draw together in bemusement.

"TT Broadcasters."

"What colour is the car?"

Now that is an odd question. "Green, but why..."

Cas cuts him off. "I just remembered I need to make an important phone call. Bye, Sam!" He hangs up on Sam who’s left staring confusedly at his phone.

_Wow_. That was weird.

Sam shakes his head at Cas’ odd behaviour and pockets his phone. The sound from Dean's radio vibrates as an annoying bass hums through the moderately soundproof door. So rather than opening the door and possibly trigger his pissy brother to conversation, Sam gets up and switches on the radio in the office instead. The same music flows from the speakers at a more pleasant volume, covering up the disturbance from the adjoining garage. Sam starts the coffee maker they bought for Bobby's office a while back, and digs up today's edition of the Freeville Gazette from his bag. Even in Freeville Cas' hook up had caused a stir, sparking awe that a twin towner being 'friendly' with one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. The front page is graced by a surprisingly beautiful picture of Cas kissing Bree McKenna in front of a well-lit fountain in a park. To Sam, it looks like a movie still from a romantic comedy.

He puts the paper on the desk and goes to prepare the coffee that is done brewing. He pours himself a mug and adds cinnamon creamer. Then he returns to the desk and sits down. He puts his feet on the desk and goes back to study Dean through the window, neglecting the paper a while longer, while he sips the coffee.

The tones of 'Back in Black' fade and the radio host comes back on the air. What he says makes Sam inhale his coffee and dissolve in a coughing fit at the same time as Dean jerks upright and slams his head on the underside of the car hood.

* * *

Stupid fucking blue-eyed Angel, for making him feel this way. He's a fucking asshole, that's what he is!

Oh yeah. Dean has seen the pictures. Staring up at him from his doormat when he came home this morning. Sam's fucking subscription of the Gazette mocked him in their morning edition. Rubbed Dean's misery in his face. Of course, _of course_ , he had to wallow in it by opening the stupid fucking paper up and read the whole four-page spread about it. There was plenty of pictures too. His Angel and Bree seen laughing together through the window of a Michelin starred restaurant. Cas walking with an arm slung around Bree's waist, looking down at her with a soft smile. More of those sweet pictures. But the picture that had him grinding his teeth together was of Cas pushed up against the wall of an elevator locked in a deep kiss with Bree, his hands squeezing her buttocks while she impatiently pushed his leather jacket halfway off his shoulders. It’s not hard to imagine what happened after that.

The explosive anger he felt yesterday had burned down with the barn, leaving a foul mood and hurt. He tries thinking rationally about it. Sam’s right. He’d been a dick towards Cas and if a beautiful, talented woman makes Cas happy, then he deserves her. Jealousy aside, Cas is a friend first and foremost. A part of the family. If Dean can never have him any other way, then the least he can do is salvage their friendship. He can live with never getting to know the taste of Cas' lips, or exchange intimate touches between the sheets, as long as he gets his friend back. That is enough, right? Right.

That is what he keeps telling himself. Maybe, given enough time, it will be true too. But right now, those thoughts are so hollow it is a wonder they don’t conjure Garth out of thin air, shoving Mr. Fizzles in his face screaming ' _Liiiiaaar_!"

Fucking Angel Eyes and his innuendo jokes that aren't jokes.

Fucking weird creepy wingboy that randomly nuzzles people in the supermarket.

You don't do that! You just _don't_ , okay?

_Fuck_!

The music in the background fades and the radio host comes on.

"...And that was 'Back in Black' with AC/DC. And now, dear friends, I've been asked to deliver a message through a song. I know we usually don't take requests on my show, but this time I'm going to make an exception. This message is, and I quote; 'Tell that bothersome assbutt mechanic buried under the hood of a green Toyota Camry to get his gears in order and give me a reason!'..."

Dean jerks upright and promptly hits his head under the hood.

" _ **SONOVABITCH**_!"

He straightens out, rubs the crown of his head where he hit it and turns to stare at the wall-mounted speaker.

"....Yeah, I know folks. Who on Earth uses words like ' _assbutt_ '? Made me laugh too," the host proceeds. "But if you're listening now Mr. Bothersome Mechanic, your angel wanted you to listen carefully to the lyrics, because he says they apply. Without further adieu - here's 'Give me one reason, by Tracy Chapman!.."

"..........!"

What, the actual, fuck?!

Is he serious?!

".. _.Give me one reason to stay here_  
 _And I'll turn right back around_  
 _Because I don't want leave you lonely_  
 _But you got to make me change my mind_..."

Dean’s staring as transfixed at the speaker. Mind working furiously and being at a complete standstill at the same time. How the fuck had Cas known what he is doing? Because the message is very specific and had Cas written all over it. What stood out to Dean is ' _your_ angel', which means that Cas had called himself that. Just as he had on the note stuck on the bedroom door after they had slept together. So all hope is not abandoned then, huh?

Something clicks into place and he finally remembers when he'd heard Cas talk about giving him a reason before. A memory that has eluded him up until now. ' _I will not fuck anybody you'd take amiss about me doing, as long as you give me a good valid reason for it_.' It was when he'd caught Cas with Lisa. Before Dean had come to terms with being attracted to a guy. Before he found out about Cas fluid preferences.

"... _This youthful heart can love you and give you what you need_  
 _But I'm too old to go chasing you around_  
 _Wasting my precious energy._.."

The fucking bastard must be joking?!!

In that light, it almost seemed like wingboy had gone on a date just to spite Dean. Which is preposterous of course, considering it was with Bree McKenna. Dean would have chosen her over Cas too, given a chance. (No he wouldn't!) Would Cas really fuck a beautiful girl in front of Dean (Okay, okay! That’s not _exactly_ how it happened, but close enough.) to make him jealous? That would be such a fucking douche move! The thought makes Dean angry all over again at the same time as he’s filled with hope due to the lyrics being sung. It would explain, though, why Cas, after spending the night with _sexy-as-Hell_ -Bree McKenna, sends Dean a message through the radio before 10 AM.

“. _..Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why  
Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why I should stay_…”

He digs up his phone and calls Cas before the song has even ended, but it goes directly to voicemail.

“ _How_ , Cas? How the _Hell_ can I give you your fucking reason if you won’t _talk_ to me?! Dammit!” He hangs up with a frustrated hiss.

* * *

Sam watches as Dean puts his phone back in his pocket and leans back on the car while the last notes of the song fade away and the host announces the next one up. Dean drags a hand across his face, stopping it over his mouth. His eyes are wide open and moving as if he is looking at something that’s clearly not in the room, indicating that he is thinking furiously.

If Sam wants proof that something’s up between his brother and his best friend - this is definitely it! Cas hanging up in his ear to send this message. Dean always referring to his crush as ‘the person’ instead of ‘she’. Cas’ pissy mood during the times Dean was at his most self-destructive. Further back, when Dean always stayed at home and hovered in the vicinity when Cas was there. And even further back, how happy Dean had been when he came home from going to the ballet with Cas.

Sam’s amazed he hasn’t seen it before. It couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d caught them kissing and reading love poems to each other. The thought that Dean was bisexual is mind-boggling. Mainly because Dean had, despite not wanting to do so, adopted many of their dad’s opinions. Albeit outwardly less judgemental, he would project those opinions inward. The internal struggles his brother must have been going through lately could be nothing short of torture.

Sam remembers his own forays into bisexual activities back in high school. Sam had it easy. He came into it from the opposite direction of Dean. Full of ‘Screw-you-dad-I’ll-do-what-I-want-to!’ bluster, rushing into it head first, just because he knew dad would have disapproved. And he doesn’t really identify himself as bisexual. More like 95% straight or something. The guys he was genuinely attracted to were few and far between. Yet remembering Brady can still get him hot and bothered and he feels no shame about that. In fact, the only person whose opinion he’d been worried about was Dean’s. And now Dean’s struggling. Is _in love_ with a man. It explains everything!

After pondering the issue, he decides that if Cas is serious about his brother then the setup couldn’t have been better. Cas is already part of the family. Sam loves him. He’s a better choice than all of Dean’s previous love interests. Sam had liked Cassie, but hated Lisa from the start. So he has to find out exactly what Castiel’s intentions towards Dean are. Best friend or not, he isn’t going to stand by idly and watch, if Cas’ only intention was to have a bit of fun at his brother’s expense. Somehow, he doesn’t think so, though. Not after all those long talks they’ve shared. And not with how long this seems to have gone on.

The real question is, how he can help his brother without bringing up the subject. He’s sure that if he asks outright Dean will clam up about this. He has to find some sneaky way to support his brother. But first things first. He can make sure Dean saw the tweet directed at him.

Sam gets up, grabs his phone and opens the door to the garage. “Hey, Dean!”

Dean looks at him when he approaches, annoyed frown creases his brows. “Sammy? I thought you’d left.”

“Yeah. No. Look, I wanted to show you this. Cas tweeted it 07:50 this morning. Somehow I think it was meant for you.” Sam hands him his phone displaying Castiel’s tweet.

" _You know who you are, boric acid and copper sulfate. To me, that was true angel flames! And yet they can never burn as hot as you._.."

Dean reads it and sucks in a breath. “This was his reaction to it?!” he blurts incredulously.

“Reaction to what?”

Dean makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Just something I sent him. Doesn’t matter.” He keeps re-reading the lines. His jaw muscles are working furiously and he has a serious thinking face on.

Sam clears his throat. “So… Have you heard anything from… Your crush yet?” He watches Dean closely and therefore doesn’t miss the miniscule jerk and the eye twitch.

Dean looks up at him with a ( _fake_ -) bored expression and hands the phone back. “Sammy, I _don’t_ want to talk about it. Now scoot off to do whatever it is you do when you’re not bugging me.” He then promptly turns his back on Sam and dives back under the hood.

When Sam gets back to the office, he can’t hold back the grin anymore.

Holy shit! _Dean and Cas_?!

* * *

Less than an hour later and Dean’s mind is whirling with thoughts, flipping from one emotion to the other when his phone vibrates in his pocket, indicating an incoming text. It’s from an unknown number. The text contains coordinates and the message “ _If you’ve got a reason, be here at 13:45. If you do not show up on time, it will be assumed you don’t have a reason and the consequential actions will be based on that._ ”

Heart speeding up, he immediately tries to call the number, getting “ _The number you have dialled does not exist_ …”. He hangs up muttering a string of curses and tries calling Cas instead, once again just getting voicemail. “Cas, you fucker! Whatta _**FUCK**_!?” Hanging up, he’s fuming.

What does he think? That Dean will just drop everything at hand and go to him?! Wingboy’s fucking TOYING with him now!!! He wants a reason? Well he could have a fucking finger!!

He opens a map app on the phone to see where the coordinates lead. It’s a city almost three hours away. Even if he left at this very minute he’d be hard-pressed to make it in time. And to top that off his flight leaves in about eight hours. This is just fucking absurd!

That douchenozzled stupid blue-eyed asshole can just go fuck himself!! See if Dean gives a shit! He will not be played like this! And _‘consequential actions ‘_? What does that even mean?

His brain promptly supplied him with an answer by playing up all the pornographic imagery that haunted him yesterday...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I know I promised you three chapters again with this update and you only got two. I'm sorry. I just can't sit on finished chapters long enough and the next chapter I've just started writing requires some serious focus from my side since it's one of those key scenes I've had in my head from the very beginning. One of those that remains the same no matter what happens in between them.
> 
> In the meantime, feel free to comment. :)


	43. Take my Breath Away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is nervously waiting. Will Dean show or won’t he? Cas once again uses music to express himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**
> 
> \- *plays Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s get it on_ in the background*  
>  \- Light breath play
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  I’m really sorry for the delayed update. It’s been a really hard chapter to write, plus I’ve been off-kilter for other reasons. 
> 
> This chapter is very closely interwoven with the music embedded further down. If you for some reason can’t listen to it, I recommend that you find it on Spotify or follow [this link (Airbase feat Floria Ambra - Denial)](https://soundcloud.com/airbasemusic/airbase-denial-original-mix) to hear it. All the lyrics are featured here so I suppose it isn’t necessary to follow the story, but you’ll have a greater chance to submerge yourself in Dean’s experience if you do listen.
> 
> Brock Kelly is the actor that played teenage Dean in SPN btw. Google him if you need a face.
> 
> There’s a Doctor Who reference in here somewhere. :) Castiel is very pop culture savvy after all. ;)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**LET’S END THIS DENIAL**

* * *

Castiel’s leaning against the wall of the alley, arms crossed over his chest and one leg bent, the sole of his boot hitched up on the wall behind him. He tries to refrain from looking at his watch and fails once again. 13:52. If Dean doesn’t show up before 14:00 he has to leave. That’s also part of the plan - No matter the circumstances, if Dean doesn’t show up or comes too late, his chance will be lost until the next time. It was Uriel that suggested they’d give him a 15 minutes window and Castiel had been an avid fan of that idea. Luci had been reluctant to agree, suggesting they’d make it 5 minutes, but in the end, gave in under the condition that Dean’s not to be informed of this window.

Cas is a bit nervous. Chances are Dean won’t show. The deadline they’ve set for him is nearly impossible and then he’ll have to make it back in time not to miss his flight from twin towns. There’s a point to this. They want Dean to act on gut instinct and not to think too much. They want to trigger the hunter in him, kind of like running from a dog would trigger it to chase you.

Castiel actually enjoys this game. Especially since Dean responds so well. He remembers in the beginning, when he’d started everything just wanting to get Dean off balanced and maybe into bed. Before he realised the nature of his feelings for Dean. This is partly like that, except he has a whole lot more to lose at this point. Hence the nervousness. Alfie had asked him if he didn’t feel guilty about what he was doing to Dean. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He asked Alfie what guilt felt like, and the young goalie had been horrified to discover Cas meant that as a genuine question. Alfie had done a valiant attempt at explaining that it was regretting and feeling bad for someone else, due to them being hurt by something you did. And, nope. Castiel could not relate.

Castiel has put on his ‘bad boy’-outfit as Dean had called it. His black leather biker jacket, black jeans, police boots, and a thin soft white T-shirt. On top of that, he is wearing his leather necklace and bracelets along with his watch. He knows Dean likes it. Not that he’s likely to show up, but still. This city has no snow left, further to the south as it is. It’s a couple of Celsius degrees warm, yet he’s under-dressed to be standing outside. He has goosebumps and his skin’s cold. He doesn’t really feel it, preoccupied as he is. He longs for a cigarette to calm his nerves. Now is not the time, though. If Dean doesn’t show he’ll walk around the corner, across the street and into the pool hall.

13:56. There he’ll meet up with his second date. They’ll be ‘bringing out the big guns’, a pop star named Brock Kelly who looks a whole lot like Dean himself. Always followed by paparazzi and with a reputation for being wild and rebellious. He’s a childhood friend of Ephraim, and openly bisexual. If Dean doesn’t show, he’ll be met by pictures of Cas making out hot and heavy with a guy. Cas thinks he might actually go all the way this time, just to get rid of some of the pent-up sexual frustration. Not usually one to be ruled by his libido, that frustration is something new. If you squint, Brock looks enough like Dean to allow for fantasy.

13:58. Disappointment is already gnawing inside of him when running footsteps echo from around the corner. Cas looks up just as a figure rounds the corner and stops dead. Enormous relief floods through him, it’s a wonder he manages to keep it from showing on his face. There is Dean, beautiful as ever, clad in jeans and a dirty grey T-shirt, engine grease on his face and arms, and for a brief moment wearing an expression of such profound relief Cas just wants to throw himself in Dean’s arms. It only lasts for a moment before it shifts into an angry scowl.

“Fuck you, Cas!” he spits and strides up to Cas, grabbing him by the jacket lapels. He yanks him from the wall and slams him back up at it again. Adrenaline starts pumping into Castiel’s bloodstream along with a multitude of other hormones. Heartbeat speeding up and awareness sharpening. At the same time, he feels utter glee and excitement. Dean yanks him off the wall and slams him back harder this time, forcing air out of Cas’ lungs with an _‘ouff’._

Dean’s eyes are almost black and he’s red in the face with rage. Cas is getting aroused but can’t tell if it’s caused by the adrenaline rush or by Dean’s proximity. Probably both. “You think you can just toy with me however you want, you fucker?! That I’m some fucking mark you can just screw over?!” Dean shouts in his face and slams him against the wall again. It hurts, but Cas isn’t aware. He came. That’s what matters. _He came._

He directs a defiant scowl at Dean. “Who’s toying with whom, Dean? Tell me! By now it should have been apparent that I have feelings for you. I was convinced they were at least partially reciprocated. All the sudden you start acting like a prime time _twat_ and stop answering my calls. Except for when you’re plastered out of your mind - and _then_ you’re all but serenading me. Bloody Hell, Dean! How do you think that makes me feel?! How?!” he shouts back and digs up a paper out of his pocket, unfolds it and holds it up to Dean’s face. “How do you think _**this**_ makes me feel?!”

When Dean sees the print out of the photos of himself from the article, he looks like he’s got physically hit in the stomach. All the anger goes out of him at once, replaced by an expression of regret and guilt. He lets go of Cas. Cas does not relent.

“You brought this on yourself, Dean,” he pummels on. “You forced my hand in this. I was content in waiting, content to take it slow until you were ready to take that step over the proverbial line. But no. You just had to toss a spanner in the works, didn’t you! You had to go and humiliate me by showing the world exactly how low I am on your list, while telling _me_ you cared, you bloody ponce!” Cas waves the paper around and throws it on the ground. Dean’s shrinking in on himself, looking more and more shamefaced. He backs up but Cas follows. He hadn’t actually felt humiliated, just angry, and disappointed. It doesn’t matter. This is his way of slamming Dean up the wall, getting his frustration out, fuelled by the adrenaline making him battle ready.

“You’re wicked and fit, and you know it, Dean.” Cas has slipped into the same mode he is on the ice. Rash and full of English slang. His impassive mask is gone, replaced by one of anger instead. Dean pulls all his triggers just by being near. “You’re the embodiment of a Siren’s call to me. Did you think that I’m so under your thumb I would not be able to wriggle free when you treat me like a bloody one-off dirty cunt?!” Well, he isn’t able to wriggle free. But Dean doesn’t need to know that right now. Somehow Dean has ended up with his back against the opposite wall and by the look on his face, he is reeling with mixed emotions.

“You dangle all that exquisite wildfire in my face and then scorn me for wanting it?!” Castiel’s fists are balled at his sides. He hadn’t even realised how angry he is until he’s standing here, face to face with Dean. How powerless he has felt for not being able to reach him. How hurt he’d been by Dean’s nasty remarks on the phone. “Tell me, Dean, when you called to sweet talk me, did you do it before or after you poked your one-eyed yoghurt lobber in any cum dumpster willing for the night?”

He’s up in Dean’s face now. “Was it before or after you let somebody else than me touch your flawless features, revel in the cadence of your voice, immerse themselves in your scent?”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is hoarse, his eyes brimming with emotions.

This close he can smell Dean. It cuts through the anger and rejection, reaches the ever-present longing and want inside of him. He leans forward, closes his eyes and buries his nose by Dean’s pulse point inhaling deeply. Dean smells of gasoline and engine grease, he smells of the leathery interior of the Impala. He smells of sweat and faded store brand deodorant. His own move took him by surprise, possibly more than it did Dean. He keeps inhaling deeply, following the neck up to his hair. He can tell Dean used Sam’s shampoo today and at some point he has soldered something, leaving a vague residue of the unpleasant scent of molten metal. His nose goes back to the pulse point. Dean’s nose touches the side of his own neck, sending shivers down his spine when Dean too inhales.

They’re sniffing each other like they were nothing more than two simple mongrels meeting in the street. It may seem ridiculous, but scent is so very important to Cas, always has been. It’s an intrinsic part of who he is, and it’s possibly one of the greatest parts of what attracts him to somebody. Dean’s savour is inebriating, stirring, and a calming balm all at once. It’s perfect.

When Dean’s hip buck and come in contact with his own, Cas puts a hand in the middle of his chest and steps away, keeping him at arm's length.

Dean looks about to protest when his eyes suddenly go round with wonder. “ _You_ gave me the hickey,” he states out of the blue. It’s not even a question. Cas nods anyway, jumping to conclusions. Last time they were pressed up against each other on a wall Cas had left a pretty unmissable mark after all.

“Dean,” he is much calmer now, yet stepping away takes a lot of effort, “you came, so I presume you want to give me a reason not to court anybody else, am I right?”

“I… Yeah.”

“Well then. I suggest we go inside and talk about it over a drink. I’ll lay my cards on the table for you.” Cas jerks his head towards a nearby door.

* * *

Ever since he met Castiel he’s been on an emotional rollercoaster. It’s like being chained to a comet. But even with his face twisted in anger, spouting venom at Dean, he says things that are the very opposite of hurtful. In fact, what hurts the most is realising he has hurt Cas. He thought the Angel was interested, sure, but not realised how great his effect on Cas is. Guilt twists like a pit of snakes in his stomach. Just when he’s sure Cas is going to fucking hit him for all the hurt, jealous anger in his eyes―Cas nuzzles him instead. Just like he had in the supermarket. But this time Cas doesn’t back away. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The anger melts away from his face on the first sniff of Dean. It’s weird maybe, but it’s just such a typically _Cas_ thing to do. The physical contact sparks goosebumps and it takes just a few seconds for Dean to reciprocate.

Burying his nose in the crook of Cas’ neck and breathing in, is like coming home. Cas feels so safe somehow, so soothing and right. His scent is one Dean has come to associate with Sam’s laughter, with being held in the night, taken care of. Cas smells like freedom and redemption. Like happiness and arousal. It’s both calming and exciting at the same time. It’s a fucking drug and Dean wants it. _Needs_ it!

Dean’s hips jerk forward searching for friction and Cas places a hand in the middle of his chest and steps away. Dean is about to protest in consternation when he’s hit by a flashback. It’s fuzzy, like the memory of a dream. But he’s sure it isn’t. He’s had too many flashes of repressed memories not to believe this one is real.

> Another alley, it’s cold as fuck but Dean can’t care less. Cas said things to him nobody had said before, his head made dizzy by the words more than alcohol ever could. Urgent need. _Craving!_ Cas’ neck is laid bare for his tongue and mouth to explore. The taste - aphrodisiac. Cas sucking a mark on his own neck, filling him with even more urgency. Him grabbing Cas’ hips and cruelly digging fingers in, pushing their hot erections against each other harshly, almost lifting Cas off the ground with every grind. It verges on painful and must hurt Cas too, but the other man clings to him with the same desperation he feels. Cas is saying something, he’s only half aware of answering. Drunk on alcohol and _all things Cas_. This is fucking heaven. Suddenly he is forcefully shoved off.
> 
> "Stop it Dean," Cas says and starts walking away. Dean sees red. He grabs a hold of Cas and slams him back towards the wall. He twists his hands into his jacket, almost lifting Cas clear off the ground. He can barely hear due to how hard his pulse is beating in his ears. His thoughts verging on incoherent.
> 
> "Whatta _Hell_ Cas!! Don't play games with me!!"
> 
> "I'm not playing games, Dean! I want this as much as you do! But you're too drunk…”

And there, mid-sentence, the flashback fades. That must have been the fight Sam spoke about. “ _You_ gave me the hickey,” he says in wonder. It had been a mystery to Dean up until now. Cas gives him an affirmative nod, confirming the flashback as a memory, not a dream. Dean would have given an arm to get access to the full memory of how and why they ended up against that alley wall in the first place.

“Dean, you came, so I presume you want to give me a reason not to court anybody else, am I right?”

“I… Yeah.”

“Well then. I suggest we go inside and talk about it over a drink. I’ll lay my cards on the table for you.” Cas jerks his head towards a nearby door and Dean nods.

Dean reaches for the door handle, but it’s locked. Cas pats him on the arm and gestures for him to step away. “I’ve got this,” he says with a determined expression.

Dean watches in bemusement as Cas pulls up a small set of lockpicks from his pocket, leans down, inserts two of them in the lock and fiddles in full concentration.

“Dammit, Angel. You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

Cas straightens out with a frustrated hiss. “Bollocks! I don’t got this. Sorry, I’m out of practise.” He gives Dean a displeased frown that makes Dean chuckle and step up to him. He takes the lockpicks from Cas with a cocky smirk and inserts them in the lock again. Old skills come back as if he was still doing this on a daily basis. In mere seconds the lock clicks open. He looks at Cas and winks, getting a sharp and appreciative look in return.

Cas moves with confidence inside, like he has a right to be there. It’s a long corridor, not very well maintained. Heavy doors lead in both directions. Some with signs declaring them to be storage rooms or entrances to the cellar. Some unmarked, so Dean presumes they lead to whatever establishments are housed in this building.

“They should not have locked that door. It’s an emergency exit,” Cas mutters as they walk and Dean gives back the lockpicks.

“You didn’t expect it to be locked?”

“No.”

“What? You just walk around with lockpicks wherever you go?”

Cas stops and turns to look at him. Face back to his usual unreadable one. “Is that a problem for you?” he asks and tilts his head.

Dean thinks about it and fidgets. Because, yeah. No. It plays right in with those bad boy fantasies their last outing sparked in him. And it means Cas is so much less likely to judge him for things he has done in the past. Not to mention how curious it makes Dean. He gives Cas a lopsided smirk. “No. On the contrary.”

Which is obviously the right thing to say. The changes in Cas’ expression are miniscule. His nostrils flare, his eyes darken and muscles by his mouth tighten to hint at an almost-smile. Had Dean not spent so much time staring at the guy he probably wouldn’t have seen the difference. But now he is so focused on everything Cas does that the switch couldn’t have been more evident than if he had given a full out carnivorous grin and growled in satisfaction.

Huh. So maybe wingboy had some kind of bad boy fantasies of his own?

As they start walking again, Dean can’t help to wonder how Dark Side Cas had gone, during the years he drifted. He’d said he conned people and indulged in violence. In fact, he used the word _‘indulged’_. Maybe that should have been taken as a warning sign, but at the time the very thought seemed laughable. Walking beside him as he is now, it no longer seems so ludicrous. He even moves with the easy grace of a predator. So that definitely _should_ be a warning. Instead, it does things to Dean.

Almost at the end of the corridor, Cas stops by a door. He tries the handle and rolls his eyes as it opens. “ _This_ door I expected to be locked,” he informs Dean dryly.

They go up a flight of stair and open another door, emerging in an empty staff changing room of a club. Bass beats can be heard mutely. Cas goes straight through it and leads them into the club, crossing the dance floor towards the bar.

Despite being two in the afternoon, there are more people in the club than Dean thought it would be, even if it’s far from crowded. It’s a dance club, very much like the one they visited with Sam. They order at the bar, a whiskey for Dean and Cointreau for Cas. They sip their drinks, quiet at first. None of them sure of where to begin, or maybe just too swept up in finally being near each other to talk. After staring quietly at each other for minutes like the idiots they are, Cas leans towards him looking at his lips. Dean’s heart speeds up. Cas is going to kiss him! He starts to lean closer too when a girl appears beside them at the bar to order, making Dean jump. “Cas. Someone might recognize us,” he hisses. Instantly regretting it as Cas leans back and averts his face with a nod. But Cas is fucking famous by now. They should take care. Dean doesn’t want to be outed by paparazzi before he even gets the chance to adapt to this himself. Not that there are any in here and come to think of it, the fact that they didn’t enter through the front does lend some secrecy. Dean wonders if that was the point for Cas to choose that route in.

Cas seems to think it over when suddenly his head snaps up and he focusses on the notes of the new song spilling out from the speakers by the dancefloor. “Why break a tradition,” he says, seemingly to himself. Then he looks back at Dean. “I know this song. Follow me.” Cas grabs Dean’s arm and pulls him away from the bar, forsaking their drinks. He pulls them to the corridor on the other side of the dance floor where the toilets are.

`[[Link to song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95-ftDriIQc)]`

There Cas backs him up against the wall. A speaker is located on the other side of it, making the music thrum through his body, bass vibrating in both the floor and the wall at his back. The wall itself mutes the sound enough to make words audible on this side but doesn’t stop from hearing the actual music. Dean’s heart beats hard in his chest as Castiel steps in between the V of his legs brushing the insides of his thighs. Dean remains passive in anticipation. Cas grabs the ends of his own jacket and holds them up as he puts his hands on the wall, one on each side of Dean’s head. This makes his jacket ride up like a tent around their heads, and as an added bonus, his T-shirt follows partway, exposing hipbones and a thin happy trail up to Cas’ belly button. Dean can’t see anything but Cas, the inside of his jacket, and their feet. Cas has created a cocoon for them that no one can see beyond. The air is humid and the scent of Cas encases them.

Cas leans his head forward and drags his mouth close-lipped along Dean’s lightly stubbled jaw. He brushes his lips back and forth over the shell of the ear. “Nobody will recognise us like this,” Cas ensures him. His silken gravel voice sending tingles through Dean’s body. Dean closes his eyes and presses the flat of his hands against the wall behind him, afraid Cas will stop if he moves. Cas speaks. Dropping one sentence at a time, letting them sink in, keeping it in rhythm with the music, the same count of bass beats between each statement.

“...You’re safe...I’ll keep you safe…Trust me, Dean.” It’s hypnotic. Electric. How Cas’ words mingle with the music thrumming through Dean’s body like they were part of the song.

“Do you trust me?...I need you to say it, Dean.”

God yes! He does. He does trust Cas. He’d be ready to lay his life in Castiel’s hands if asked to.

“I trust you, Angel.” Dean’s voice comes out hoarse. He doesn’t care.

“Good boy…” Castiel purrs, pleased. It sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He can feel Cas smile against his skin.

_Dammit! Why is that such a huge turn on?!_ He has to fight not to buck his hips. Outside Cas had stopped when he did that. He doesn’t want him to stop.

“...now listen to the words of the song…” Cas continues. He keeps talking in sync with the music, his familiarity with the song apparent.

“They speak for me.” As the lyrics start, Cas’ lips follow the line of his jaw down to his lips, they brush his, light as a feather. Cas does not kiss, just breathes in his air, sharing his own hot breath. It’s dizzying. Both metaphorically and literally. The whole setup is hypnotic. The semi-darkness, the bass throbbing, the intimacy. Awareness of anything but their little bubble fades.

 

**Sleepless, lightless,**   
**I've been waiting for you**  
 **In secret, counting the hours**  
 **Until the morning sun**  
 **How would you love now what's inside of me**  
 **I wonder how we don't have to be anything else but this**

 

Cas’ lips once again travel along his jaw, brushing his stubble and this time landing small kisses until he is up by the ear again, sucking Dean’s earlobe into his mouth, teasing it lightly with his teeth.

 

_**Let's end this denial** _

 

“I want you, Dean…You’re so beautiful...inside and out.”

 

_**Let's end this denial** _

 

“That’s what I ask of you...Give in to what we have.”

Dean’s breath is coming more rapidly now through his open mouth. His heart’s beating fast. Cas slots his lips over Dean’s, but it’s not a kiss, he just covers it with his own open mouth, cutting off the air supply. Dean tries to shy away but he has a wall at his back and Cas follows. Without meaning to, he draws breath and warm air rushes into his lungs through Castiel’s nose. He relaxes again, drawing deep secondhand breaths. The air tastes of Cas and it feels weird but oddly intimate. Then Cas cuts off the air supply and it takes Dean a half-panicked second to figure out what he wants.

_Trust Cas._

He manages to relax the muscles in the back of his nasal cavity and as soon as he does Cas draws breath, air rushing in through his own nose. If anything, this feels even stranger, but so close and personal. Like they are one and the same. Dependant on each other. Only a fraction of the oxygen reaches his lungs. He draws secondhand breaths of his own from Cas.

 

**Need you, Feel you**  
 **Breathing on me,**  
 **Feeling us fading**  
 **I'm waiting for you to come home**  
 **I felt the light touch, will keep us together, satisfied**  
 **You light up my path, speeding the hours**  
 **You heal me somehow**

 

Oxygen grows scarce, making him light-headed, consciousness reduced to Cas’ pliant lips over his, the scent of the two of them, and the surfaces where they touch. The moment it all verges on too much Cas removes his lips, a rush of fresh air sends Dean’s head spinning. He pants as if they had engaged a much more arduous activity than breathing. He gets the feeling of being afloat.

“You make me feel, Dean.” Cas lips brush his ear again.

 

_**Let's end this denial** _

 

“You bring colour to my world of grayscales.” His words are a spell of binding.

“You’re fire through my veins...intoxicating...enchanting me.”

Dean’s hands come up to touch the bare skin of Cas’ tantalizing hipbones, gently rubbing his thumbs over them. He keeps his eyes closed. Drinking in every word like they’re gospel.

“You make me hunger...I’ll never leave you...Just give in.”

Castiel places open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck, tongue darting out to taste him. He kisses Dean’s throat, nudging at his jaw with his nose to make Dean open up. Obligingly Dean tilts his head so Cas can reach the underside of his jaw. Teeth graze along his jawbone. Stubbled cheek rasp lightly against stubbled cheek. It should feel wrong, he thinks. But it doesn’t. It’s inebriating. More potent than any amount of alcohol. He’s lost to the sensations, floating in the words from Cas, in the lyrics sung when he doesn’t talk. Soft kisses are placed on his cheeks and on his eyelids. Lips brush his lips but move away when he tries to catch them.

 

**Hear me calling, I'm going, seeking**   
**Time is flowing slowly when you're not around**  
 **The heart is rifting, do make us willing**  
 **You're spending up my hours until we're not alright**

 

Cas is back by his ear. Voice rough and smooth and hypnotic. “I want to show you everything.”

“Want to share your life...and explore your body...Nobody needs to know...what we do in private.”

 

_**Let's end this denial** _

 

“Let me in, Dean...let me see the fire in you...I want you to be mine...every part of you.”

“I want to share it...I’ll be yours...no one else’s...belong to you...with you.”

Cas tone is alluring and reverent at the same time. Dean feels fucking cherished. Safe. He’s so turned on he thinks he could come untouched just by listening to the praise and promises falling from Cas lips. He wants it so bad. His Angel. _His_!

 

_**Hear me calling...** _

_**Let's end this denial…** _

 

“Just give in.”  
“Give in to me.”

 

_**Let's end this denial…** _

 

“Trust me, Dean, and give yourself over… I will not judge you… What do you say, Dean... Are you mine?” Cas retracts his head and Dean opens his eyes. Cas’ eyes are dark, his pupils are blown wide. He’s studying Dean with intensity, and there’s a hint in his expression of something Dean rarely sees in him. Nervousness. Vulnerability. His lips are glistening with saliva. Dean closes the distance between their mouths. Cas is the one to close his eyes when their lips meet this time. Dean’s tongue dart out, licks the seam of Cas’ mouth, begging for entrance. Castiel complies eagerly and their tongues meet. Tentatively at first. Cas tastes fantastic! The taste that is him tinged faintly of oranges from the Cointreau. It’s Ambrosia. When Cas moans into the kiss Dean lets go of control and indulges. He fans out his hands over Cas’ exposed skin at his hips and pulls him closer. Licking into his mouth and grinds their crotches together. Cas meets him grind for grind, hard as a rock within the confines of his jeans.

Cas tongue explores Dean’s mouth, licks his teeth, nibbles his lower lip and then their tongues meet again. Their kiss keeps changing pace to and fro, from fervent to slow-sweet and back. Like neither of them can decide if they crave intimacy or satiation of their desire the most. Dean’s hands slide up under Castiel’s T-shirt, maps out the muscles underneath, that dip in the spine that he so often visualizes when he fantasizes about Cas. His skin is so soft and still a bit cold after waiting outside. It’s so much better in real life. He feels the goosebumps that erupt in the wake of his touch, how Cas shivers from it. His own heart’s beating like a war-drum, he is dizzy with the heady sensation of _all things Cas._

Music forgotten as the song ends and fades into another. Castiel lets go of the jacket with one hand and tugs Dean’s belt open with one hand. He pops the button and opens the fly of the jeans with practised ease, then slips his hand inside Dean’s boxers. His surprisingly soft hand encircles his shaft and begins stroking. Not much is needed, Dean was balancing on the edge already.

“Shit, Angel. I’m too fucking close.”

“We’ve had months of foreplay.” Castiel increases the pressure and speed of his strokes. “We’ll do it right next time, just let go,” Cas urges, his voice rough.

And that’s all the reassurance Dean needs. He comes with a strangled cry, biting down hard on Cas’ shoulder, to the point he’d probably break skin if it hadn’t been covered by leather. Cas is covering the head of his cock with his hand, squeezing gently, trying to catch most of the come. Once the last spurt has shuddered out of Dean he raises the hand to his mouth and licks it clean. Dean leans his temple against Cas’ shoulder, watching his tongue fervently lap up every drop.

Dean chuckles. “You like that, huh?” He’s wrecked, liberated, happy. His legs are jelly and his heart is soaring. He feels oddly detached, in a good way.

“Yes,” Cas answers and tilts his head down to the side to capture Dean’s lips in a kiss. Dean can taste himself on Cas’ breath. “I’d rather have it straight from the source, but I think you would have found it too incriminating if I would have gone down on you here.” Cas smiles against his lips.

Imagining Cas doing that makes his spent dick twitch valiantly. Dean latches on to his mouth and licks into it, trying to steal what remains of his come straight from Castiel’s mouth. He means it as a tease but it has an immediate and profound effect on the other man because Cas makes a needy sound and presses himself against Dean, grinding desperately and throwing himself with abandon into the kiss.

_Holy fuck!_

Talk about stumbling onto a major kink!

Dean had been with a girl once who thought it was really sexy when he came on her stomach, then licked it up and fed it to her with his mouth. This is like that but amplified like a 100 times! Dean grabs a hold of Castiel’s ass and pushes him towards his crotch, rutting against him. He has to fight not to jerk each time his over-sensitive cock is squashed between them but the level of Castiel’s arousal is worth the discomfort. He’s clinging to Dean with his arm hooked around his neck and he keeps making those wonderful needy noises. It does things to Dean.

There’s nothing discreet about their rutting now. They might as well have been fucking straight up against this wall. Dean growls “ _Mine!_ ” with every thrust. Kudos to his Angel for still managing to hide Dean’s identity by bracketing his head between the jacket and his own head. He’s faintly aware of people passing them in the corridor and he realises he’s hard again. Frankly, it’s a bit painful, but fuck it. Cas movements are frantic. He breaks the kiss, panting, no longer able to concentrate. Cas draws his head back so their eyes lock. He looks totally out of it.

“Dee, can I come?” Castiel pleads.

“Shit, Angel, fuck yeah!”

Castiel’s eyes glaze over when he falls over the edge with a drawn out moan. He whimpers and jerks erratically with each spurt. Dean kisses him again, claiming every sound Cas makes. Afterwards, Castiel sags against him, forehead resting on Dean’s shoulder while trying to catch his breath. Dean encircles him with his arms, one hand going up to cradle the back of Cas’ head, nestling in his hair. They stand like that for a while, revelling in the proximity to each other.

“You wouldn’t really, would you?” Dean asks when they have calmed down a bit.

“Would what?”

“Gone down on me. Here?”

Castiel sniggers. “Yes, I would. I will, if you want me to. But then I cannot hide your face. Do you want me to suck you off right here, Dean?”

“No,” Dean answers, but his dick twitches and his hips buck involuntarily, belying that statement. He giggles.

Shit. Seriously? _Giggling?_

He doesn’t need to worry about having a gay crisis because Cas has turned him into a _girl_!

“Another time then,” Castiel says with fond amusement.

Dean is struck by curiosity and lets go of Cas’ head. Instead, he wriggles his finger inside the front of Castiel’s jeans and underwear. It’s a tight squeeze, hot and wet and messy inside. His fingers come in contact with Cas’ dick, now gone soft. It’s weird, touching another man’s junk. Weirder still to feel it respond and start filling. Weird, but not gross. It’s exciting that Cas so easily responds to him. But that’s not the end game here. Not the curiosity he wants to quench. He rubs his fingers in the mess Castiel’s orgasm caused and then retracts his hand, lifting it and puts the sticky fingers in his mouth.

Castiel’s sperm tastes different than his own. Less tangy and more salty, but with the same vaguely sweet base note. It’s not an unpleasant taste. Dean has never minded his own taste, but this is, well, better somehow. He wonders if every guy tastes different. It makes sense, girls do, after all. A roughly spoken “ _Fuck! Dee_ ㅡ” jars him out of his musings and makes him look at Cas. And holy fuck! Cas is staring as transfixed at the fingers going into Dean’s mouth, panting hard. His eyes are glassy, wide, and mouth hanging partly open. He looks wrecked and _hungry_. Dean huffs out an amused breath. _Major kink indeed._

Dean’s just about to dip his fingers down for more when the phone in his pocket start to vibrate, startling the both of them. Vaguely, the tones of Christina Aguilera’s _Candyman_ can be heard over the rumbling bass in the background.

“Fuck! Gabe’s calling. I gotta go, Cas.” The thought of leaving Cas now causes a tangible ache in his chest.

Cas visibly reins in his self-control and looks just as pained as Dean feels about breaking this off. “I’m coming with. The other’s are taking a later flight. Home game tomorrow, remember?” With one hand he closes Dean’s button and zipper. (Impressive!) “Now hand me your phone.”

Dean complies. “Why?”

Cas looks around to see if the coast is clear and then steps away from Dean to a more socially accepted distance. “Because I’m going to change Gabriel’s signal to a more suitable one,” he says and starts fiddling with the phone as soon as it stops ringing. He pauses and adjusts his dick with a displeased grimace. Dean’s lips twitch in a smile.

“What are you changing it to?”

“The Candyman, by _Pitcher._ ”

“Never heard it.”

Cas is looking down at the phone with a deep frown on concentration. When he’s done he holds up the phone to Dean to play the signal. “ _He is the worst of his kind_ …” it begins. Dean can’t help but to chuckle and raise an eyebrow in question.

“Let’s chalk it down to passive aggressiveness. I’m most displeased at being disrupted in our proceedings. However, we do indeed need to leave now, or you will miss your flight,” Castiel grouses.

* * *

90 minutes later Dean is speeding. Stressed the fuck out. He won’t make it back in time.

“Call Sam and tell him to check in your luggage for you. We’ll go straight to the airport. After that, I can drop Baby off in the garage by your flat, or at Bobby’s if you prefer.”

Dean cringes uncomfortably.

Cas makes a big deal about rolling his eyes and sighing in exasperation. “Dean! I’m a good driver. I will treat this lady with the respect she deserves. Don’t be bothersome,” he scolds and glares at Dean.

“Yeah yeah. Okay,” Dean grumbles. It’s a big deal to him, letting somebody else than himself and occasionally Sam drive Baby. But this is _Cas_ after all. And it’s the only possible way not to miss the flight. The airport is closer than their apartment. He calls Sam, whom of course yells at him for just disappearing without a trace, and arranges the logistics of his gear and suitcase. After that, he feels calmer.

“You know where the spare keys are, right?” he asks and scratches the bridge of his nose nervously, studiously not looking at Cas.

“Yes?” He can feel Cas scrutinizing gaze as if it’s burning his skin.

It’s no biggie. Really. No need to get nervous about it, Winchester.

“I’m gonna give you my keys. Hang them and Baby’s keys where the spare ones are, and take the spare ones for yourself.” He tries to sound nonchalant about it. Cas isn’t fooled.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re family. You should have your own keys,” he says gruffly, stomach churning. “Sammy won’t mind.”

Fuck. He basically just asked Cas to move in with them. Kinda.

It can’t be helped. He wants Cas to be there always. His laundry in the basket and his scent on the sheets. He wants his volatile morning temper and sweet weirdness and considerate nature around. These weeks apart have been torture. Just two more weeks of clashing schedules and then they can be together again. And sleep together. Something that makes nervous butterflies flutter in his stomach. Because now it won’t be just cuddling. Hell no! The next time Cas lies in bed with Dean, he’s going to get him naked and finally get to do all those things he’s fantasized about for so long now. They’ll have to be quiet of course, but Sam won’t suspect a thing. He won’t. Will he?

Cas digs his keys out of his pocket, removes one of the keys and hands it to Dean who give him a surprised look. “I was going to give you and Sam a key each to my house anyway.” Cas shrugs. “You may choose any room for yourself. Although, I strongly suggest you choose the one next to my bedroom. It has an adjoining door so it will aid hiding the fact that I’m your boyfriend, from Sam.”

Dean sputters. “Jezus! Shit! Fuck! Ca _-aas_!” Colour rushes to his cheeks and his heart beats faster.

_Boyfriend!?_

 

**Boyfriend!?**

 

Cas throws him a dark squinty glare. He unbuckles his seatbelt and removes his jacket. Then he takes his T-shirt off.

“Cas? Angel, what are you doing?” Dean flusters.

Instead of answering Cas slides next to him and kisses him on the neck, licks a stripe up to his ear. Dean has trouble focussing on the road. Cas whispers in his ear. “Would you prefer the term ‘partner’?” he sucks Dean’s earlobe into his mouth and Dean whimpers. “Or perhaps ‘ _lover_ ’?” The hot puffs of breath in his ear sends shivers down Dean’s spine.

Dean can feel the angry energy seething under the surface, though. “ _Caa-as,”_ he whines. “Do we really have to put a label on it?”

Cas twists his body towards Dean. “Look at this, Dean. Do you know what this is?” he says and points at the shoulder that had been facing away from Dean up until now.

Dean takes his eyes off the road to look. A big bruise has bloomed where Dean bit down during his orgasm. Teeth marks visible despite the leather that had protected the skin.

“Shit, Angel, I didn’t mean to bite so haㅡ” Castiel cuts him off.

“ _This_ , is a claiming mark. This is a mark of ownership. I don’t let just anyone mark me up, Dean. Do you want to retract that claim?” He sounds pissed. His eyes are burning into Dean, lazer sharp.

Hell no, he doesn’t! Cas is _his!_

“Fuck no.”

The anger melts away from Cas, leaving him looking predatory and pleased. He leans forward and brushes his lips against the shell of Dean’s ear. “Good boy,” he praises, sending jolts of electricity through Dean’s body. Then he kisses his way down the side of Dean’s neck and tugs at his collar, exposing as much of Dean’s shoulder as he can. Dean sees what’s coming but doesn’t stop it. It turns him on―not the pain in itself, but the primal implications―when Cas sinks his teeth into the flesh laid bare. He almost breaks skin and Dean hisses. Cas eases the pressure slowly and soothes the bite mark with his tongue. Dean’s hips buck.

“Shit, Cas. If you don’t stop now I’m gonna have to pull over and then I am gonna miss my flight for sure!”

Cas sniggers self-satisfied and slides back to his seat. Dean lets out a shuddering breath. On the inside he’s a jumble of emotions, all of them good for once.

Cas puts his shirt and jacket back on (sadly) and re-fastens his seat belt. He’s smiling. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. I will not tolerate infidelity. If you can’t keep your dick to yourself, then neither will I. Intoxication is not an excuse, your actions are your responsibility. If you really wish to fuck somebody else, we’ll do it together. Is that clear?”

Dean wonders if he’ll ever get used to Cas’ bluntness. “Yeah. Basically, you’re saying not to cheat on you.” _Again_ , Dean’s mind supplies, despite the fact they weren’t together then. Dean doesn’t want to think about it. He changes the subject. “So what were you gonna do if I hadn’t shown up?”

“I had a date.”

Dean instantly feels that nasty jealousy burn again. He tries not to show it. “With Bree McKenna?”

“No. With Brock Kelly,” Cas answers and studies him, face impassive. Dean knows it’s a mask by now, but he still can’t figure out what goes on behind it.

“The gay pop star?”

“He’s bi, actually. The media doesn’t really separate between the two since he had the same partner for several years.”

Dean grinds his teeth. Brock Kelly is good looking, tall, well built, green eyes, plush lips. Jo had a bunch of posters of the guy in her room and she used to say Dean looked a lot like him.

“You wouldn’t be bothered about being seen in public with a guy?” Dean asks, trying to rein in the burning poison in his mind. After all, Cas is here, with him, and hadn’t hesitated for a moment before he chose to stay. He hasn’t made any phone calls to cancel either, which means that the other dude had been left hanging in the dark. For some reason that gives Dean a sense of malicious pleasure.

Cas chuckles. “Not in the least. Does that really come as a surprise to you by now?”

“No. No, I guess it doesn’t,” Dean concedes.

Silence stretches between them after that. It’s a loaded quiet, but still comfortable. Dean can see Cas looking at him, back in creepy staring mode, but refrains from commenting. He’s just happy his Angel is here with him. The bite mark on his shoulder throbs faintly. He vows to look at it in the mirror later. It represents a promise to stay and that elates him. Minutes pass by with only the sound of the engine and Legos rattling in the vents. Then Cas lays his hand on the seat beside him, palm up, and wiggles his fingers. Dean feels all mushy inside when he places his hand on Castiel’s and interlace their fingers. They share a small, almost shy smile before Cas turns his head and looks out of the window.

Cas has called him Dee twice when he’s at the peak of his arousal. He wonders if it’s intentional or just a slip of the tongue. Sam’s the only one who ever calls him Dee, and even that is rare these days. The nickname represents only good things for him. Sam’s first words. Being curled around Sam as a child, taking comfort in each other when things got bad. Moments when all barriers are down and he and Sam talk. Comforting Sam after a nightmare. When Sam got drunk and affectionate. In short, ‘Dee’ represented intimacy and love, and it’s an epithet that never ever had been used in a derogatory way. It felt really good to hear it from Cas.

They make it to the airport with minutes to spare. Dean looks around as they unbuckle their seatbelts, making sure no one is watching as he leans over and captures Castiel’s lips with his, while handing over his apartment keys. It’s just a soft press of lips, but he thinks that if he deepens it he won’t be able to make it out of the car. He rests his forehead against Cas’, reluctant to leave. After these weeks of pain and months of pining, parting is torture.

“I don’t want to go,” he says weakly.

Cas lets out a huff of amusement. “Okay, Ten. I don’t want you to go either, but we’ll see each other in two weeks. Just answer your bloody phone when I call.” Cas gives him another kiss and shoves him off. “Now, Dean. Basically, RUN!”

Cas has a big happy grin on his face, and Dean can’t help to return it. He leaves the keys in the ignition and slides out of the car, hitting the ground running.

Despite not wanting to leave, a part of him is floating on clouds of happiness.

Because holy shit!

_He’s got a boyfriend_!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment! Please! :)


	44. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides to play the matchmaker, very much for his own agenda. The boys finally get to see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No warnings for this chapter.**
> 
> **A note:** You know how in close friendships and family we tend to adopt each others' expressions? Certain words and gestures will be copied and used by all in the group/pairing. When we write we usually focus so much on keeping our characters in character and making sure they’ll stand out as individuals that we tend to forget about this occurrence. I wanted to integrate this behaviour into the story since the boys are growing increasingly close. Therefore you might see slight shifts in how they speak. Just saying.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**TAKE OFF**

* * *

”Where the Hell have you been?!” Sam directs a super-charged bitchface No.33 at him as he falls into the seat beside his little brother on the airplane. 

“Had to go see about a girl,” Dean says nonchalantly and reaches for the on board safety pamphlet, pretending to read it. He’d nearly missed the flight. The gate was closed and the only reason he was allowed to board at all, was that Gabe was stalling the hostess by throwing a major bitch fit, and his luggage was already checked. He’d stonewalled every question from Gabe and is determined to do the same with Sam.

For some reason, his answer seems to make Sam even pissier. “Dean! You almost missed the flight because you went to hook up with someone?! I thought you weren’t gonna do that anymore? What about―” He takes a breath and lowers his voice with an accusing lilt. ”What about your crush?” He almost looks like he is personally hurt by Dean’s behaviour.

Dean gives him a blank, bored stare as an answer while digging up his phone and earphones from his pocket. Sam rolls his eyes and turns away to look out the window making bitchface No.14 when he realises Dean isn’t going to answer. Satisfied that Sam’s minding his own damned business, Dean puts the earphones in his ears, switches his phone to airplane mode and hooks himself up on the in-flight WiFi. He types _‘Let’s end this denial lyrics’_ in google. When he has the title and artist and he opens up Spotify, finding it there. He puts it on repeat and closes his eyes. It’s not really his kind of music but he immerses himself in it, thinking back on what happened just a few hours earlier, reliving the moment over and over. For once he doesn’t even notice the takeoff. A nice change from his usual half panic attack that more often than not hits him at takeoff. The first times flying his fear had lasted all the way through, making him overheated, chilled to the bone, drenched in sweat, and nauseous. Now though, he just has a problem with takeoff and landing. He falls asleep, lulled by thoughts of Castiel’s body pressed up against his and shared breaths.

* * *

Newly showered and dressed in clean clothes he stands in the hotel bathroom shaving. Through the open door, he hears music start playing.

_“I’m in love with an angel, heaven forbid… Made me a believer with the touch of her skin...”_

It’s a nice song, ‘Angel’ by Theory of a Deadman. Not what Sam usually plays. Dean hums along and washes his face.

“Dean, are you gonna answer your phone or not?” Sam calls to him.  
 _Wait, what?_ And he just knows it. 

That sneaky sonovabitch!

Dean storms out of the bathroom and grabs his phone from the bed. And, yep, that’s Cas calling. Apparently, Gabe’s ring signal wasn’t the only one he messed with. Scowling, he answers.

* * *

Sam lies on the bed reading when Dean storms towards his phone to answer. His big brother has different tunes for all his contacts so Sam thinks nothing of it until, instead of answering like he normally does, Dean opens with a scolding.

“You Asshole! You changed your signal!”

Sam looks up at his brother. Whatever is said on the other side makes Dean blush and fight to keep his scowl.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want,” he grouses and then listens. “Oh for fuck sake, I might have missed your call because of that! ...Yeah. ...Serves you right. Whatta you expect? I came straight from the garage.” Dean’s ill temper is melting right off, morphing into a sweet blush and a small smile as he’s talking, looking down at the floor and scraping his bare toes on the carpet absentmindedly with one foot.

Huh. 

When his brother giggles and utters an embarrassed “Shuddup,” with a goofy grin Sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. This is when Dean recalls he isn’t alone. He gives Sam a stink eye and marches back into the bathroom with the phone, shutting the door firmly behind him. He stays in there for two solid hours. Sam can hear him laugh occasionally and his voice filters through the door too quietly to hear the words. 

Well… That’s not good. What about the thing he has for Cas? 

Sam spends the rest of the evening feeling discontented about this new development.

* * *

“Would you hurry up and come open the door?” Dean glares impatiently at Sam from where he stands waiting outside their apartment, loaded with their bags.

“Why don’t you open it yourself, assbutt? I’m carrying as much as you do,” Sam snaps back at him. The elevator is broken and they had to take the stairs.

“I gave my keys to Cas. Now, will you hurry up here? I have to pee.”

_What?_

“When did you do that?”

Dean stiffens, cheeks tinged pink, and looking very much caught with his hands in the cookie jar. It only lasts for a moment before it morphs into an annoyed frown. “It doesn’t matter. Just shut up and open the goddamn door, bitch!”

“Jerk.”

Dean avoids Sam’s gaze. When the door’s opened Dean drops the bags in the hallway and makes a beeline for the key-rack in the cupboard, looking at it for a moment, _then_ he goes to the toilet. Sam goes to the cupboard and checks the key-rack too out of curiosity. Dean’s keys have an extra key on them, the spare keys are gone and the Impala’s keys hang there. Which means Cas has driven the Impala. That’s _huge_! It definitely explains why they had to take a cab home from the airport. And it also means Dean had gone to meet up with Cas during his mysterious disappearance―making sense of Dean’s behaviour lately―Even if it doesn’t explain _how_ , since their locations were supposedly six hours apart from each other that day. There’s also a new key hanging there, with a piece of electric tape with ‘Sam’ written on it.

“Cas has the spare keys?” Sam yells.

“Yeah. I told him he could keep ‘em,” Dean yells back, muffled through the bathroom door.

“Good! We shoulda let him have ‘em long time ago. Dunno why we didn’t. Is this the key to his house?”

Dean knows exactly which one he means. “Yeah. He told us to choose a room each. I call dibs on the big one next to the master bedroom!” Dean replies.

Sam huffs out a laughter Dean can’t hear.

_I bet you do!_ he thinks to himself. This is a big deal. Dean would never have accepted this if he wasn’t serious about Cas. Best friends or not. Dean wouldn’t have protested if Sam had given Cas a key to their apartment, but each accepting a room of their own in his house? Never! Although, if they hit it off with each other as Sam hoped they would―Dean has quite a libido. Better to be tactical about his own choice of room.

“I’ll take the one downstairs!”

When Dean comes out from the bathroom Sam makes a point of not mentioning when this trade of keys had taken place, and his brother certainly doesn’t bring it up. They quickly discover that letting Cas have free access to their apartment has its perks. Everything is restocked, from toilet paper to food. All their laundry has been washed and there are two new photos of the three of them, framed and placed in the living room. It’s like they’d been visited by a friendly ghost. Sam picks up one of the photos and looks at it, smiling. His brother comes to stand next to him to also look at the picture. It’s from Cas’ birthday party. Taken with self-timer Cas’ phone had snapped a number of photos of the three of them. This one captured them when they had dissolved into a fit of laughter. It’s the kind of picture you’d find if you look up ‘Happy’ in a dictionary. 

He wonders what it would take to get a confession out of Dean. Cas really is part of the family. He belongs with them. And he would never try to come between the brothers. Not like Lisa had. Dean hadn’t seen it, but time and time again she’d put Dean in situations where he was made to choose. To prove his devotion to her. It had been subtle and discreet and from the get-go. Small innocuous things that excluded Sam one way or another, even when they were doing things all three of them. Like watching a movie. She’d bring snacks over but just happen to forget the ones that Sam had asked for. When she cooked for the three of them she would make just a little bit too little. (That would always misfire, though, as there will never come a day when Dean doesn’t prioritize Sam getting a belly full before himself.)

Okay, so Lisa wasn’t really a bad person. And if they had come from a normal family, he probably would have liked her and rooted for it to work out. But they don’t come from a normal family and Dean is all he has. Whoever they end up with, will have to realize they have a relationship with both brothers, even if sex is only on the table with one of them. He knows it’s selfish thinking and before dad had died he’d dreamed of moving away, leaving everything behind. That faded in the years after dad’s death and morphed into a dream of Dean and him living with their significant others and possible kids or dogs in a big house. Together. He can think of no one he would forsake that for. Well. He can think of one person, but that was a minefield of danger and entails things he can’t even begin to comprehend so he stays away from those thoughts.

The point is, Cas is perfect for his dream. He gets along with, and dotes on both of them. He takes their warped minds in stride and has his own messed up background to make him not balk at theirs. If Dean and he can’t get together by themselves _he’ll_ make it happen.

“I want to tell him,” Sam says out of nowhere.

“Tell him what?”

“How we grew up. I mean, everything. Not just pieces of the truth, but all of it.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“Yeah. Look, he’s already part of our family. He has never judged or pitied me for the things I have told him. I’d really like for him to know me. But I’ve held back for your sake. Now that you’re... friends… I thought maybe…”

“You don’t think that’d scare him off?” Dean sounds uncomfortable, but doesn’t react to Sam’s hesitation on choosing a definition for Cas relation to Dean.

“I really don’t.”

Dean makes a noncommittal sound. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

* * *

Keys rattle in their lock and both brothers shoot up from the couch and go to the hallway. Cas barely manages to get the door open before Sam sweeps him up in a bear hug, nearly making him drop the bag with Indian takeout food in the process. Cas reciprocates with a little laugh. Dean hovers awkwardly behind. When Sam lets Cas go, he’s handed the plastic bag, and before Dean has the chance to hesitate Cas wraps his arms around him. It’s a short hug before Dean breaks it and casts a nervous glance at Sam. Sam hadn’t missed how Dean had tilted his head and burrowed his nose in Castiel’s neck for just a moment. Not very platonic.

“Good to see you again,” Sam says with a happy grin as Cas takes off his jacket and boots. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black tee with an obscure text printed on it as usual. ‘ _To know about the Giggle Loop - Is to be part of the Giggle Loop_ ’ it reads. Sam has long since stopped trying to pinpoint what TV-shows or movies the quotes come from.

Cas looks at them both with a warm smile. “Yes. It feels good to be home.”

For a beat, they all stare at each other with stupid smiles and Sam has this wonderful feeling of _HappyHomeFamily._ Dean, of course, snaps out of it first.

“Are you two done with the chick flick moment? I’m starving.”

Cas shakes himself. “Yes. Have you picked a movie yet?” he says and walks to the kitchen, taking a beer from the fridge and throwing a look at the living room table to see if the brothers already have something to drink or not.

“No. We wanted to wait until you came,” Sam supplies.

“Good. In that case, I’ll inform you that Steven Moffat is a god and tonight your education as to why begins. We’re marathoning ‘ _Coupling_ ’, the English version, not the lousy American ripoff. The DVD box is in the bag with the food.”

* * *

A while later they’re all sitting on the couch, sated and laughing their asses off at the ridiculous English comedy show that Cas brought. They’ve cracked open a bottle of whiskey and the mood is light. Sam keeps casting covert looks at Dean and Cas. Cas acts just like he always does, sitting just a bit closer to Dean than Sam, between them. Come to think of it, he always does that. But being aware that there’s something going on makes small things stand out that Sam hadn’t seen before. The sheer amount of times Dean ‘accidentally’ touches Cas for instance. How he stares transfixed when Cas drinks from the beer bottle or licks his lips after sipping the whiskey. Cas never looks at Dean during those touches, he doesn’t acknowledge them at all. In fact, he doesn’t look at Dean unless he’s speaking to him.

Sam tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together. These are the things he has to work with:

1\. Dean’s definitely crushing on Cas.  
2\. Cas has admitted to being attracted to Dean. And he’s come on to Dean in front of Sam. On the phone and when they were out drinking.  
3\. Cas probably knows Dean’s interested, since Sam, without meaning to, had told him about his brother’s crush. Also, the radio stunt Cas had pulled, pointed at him wanting Dean to take measures to make anything happen.  
4\. He’s fairly certain that Dean and Cas had met up the same day, and that’s why Dean nearly missed their flight. (How else could Cas have gotten Dean’s keys?) After that Dean has been happier. Yet there’s no outwardly sign right now that anything has changed between them.

Looking at them now, it’s impossible to discern if it is a one-sided crush or not. He can’t figure out what level Castiel’s interest is at. He can’t ask Dean. Cornering him on a thing like this will have a very negative effect. So the question is how he can get them together. When Dean gets up and goes to pee Sam turns toward Cas.

“What’s going on between you and Dean?” Cas at least you can be straightforward with. If he doesn’t want to answer he won’t. But you can ask him anything without alienating him.

Cas fixates him with one of his blank stares that give away absolutely nothing. Instead of answering the question he asks one of his own. “What kind of trouble are you in with the _Porodica_ , Sam?”

 

Whoa! He wasn’t expecting _that!_ Mentally he’s flailing and backpedalling in horror. How does Cas know?! Lucifer wouldn’t have told him, would he? If he had, Cas wouldn’t need to ask.

“What?! I’m not... I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Yeahuh,” Cas says dryly, totally unconvinced. “Is it drugs? Money? Did you see something you shouldn’t?”

“Cas! I’m not... Look. I don’t know what you’re... I’m not…” Sam flusters and Cas cuts him off.

“Lying about it won’t make the problem go away, Sam. Those are very dangerous people. I’ll do my best to help you and protect you. You know me, always happy to bleed for the Winchesters. But I can’t help you, if you don’t talk to me.” Cas has pinned him with one of those brain-defragmenting laser stares ordinarily reserved for his brother, and Sam can definitely relate to Dean’s flight reflex. That’s when his brother reappears from behind and Sam jerks when he speaks up.

“What are you two talking about?”

“The giggle loop,” Cas answers, giving Dean a soft smile and pointing at the TV where one of the characters is presently saying _‘To know about the Giggle Loop - Is to be part of the Giggle Loop’._

When Dean sits down on the couch again, Cas places a cushion in his lap and lays on his back, placing his head on it and throws his legs over Sam's lap.

"Ca- _aaas_!" Dean whines, flustered.

"Don't be bothersome, Dean. Pillows aren't supposed to squirm," Cas chides and pulls Dean's arm down on his stomach, holding it there when Dean tries to free himself.

Sam laughs and pats Cas on the knee, leaving his hand there. "You're such a cuddle slut, Cas!" 

Dean looks at Sam's hand on Cas' knee and stops trying to free himself, very much the effect Sam was hoping for, even if his brother remains tense.

_Five points for Ravenclaw,_ Sam thinks and mentally high-fives himself. He’s spent a whole lot more time with Cas than Dean has, so he has come to expect that one could at any given moment be treated as part of the upholstery, and arranged to suit Castiel's convenience. It’s just one of those weird things about Cas. This is the first time Sam has seen Cas utilize Dean for that purpose, though, and he hopes there’s a hidden agenda for it on Cas' part.

"Yes, well, what's the point of having friends if you are not allowed to seek comfort from them?" Cas says dryly.

"Not everybody takes the word 'comfort' quite as literally as you do, wingboy," Dean points out with an eye roll, but relaxes all the same.

Cas makes a noncommittal sound and turns his attention to the TV. It doesn't take long for the three of them to sink back in comfortable banter and commentary of the show they're watching.

"Who would you rather bang of those?” Dean asks and points at the TV where all six characters are present at the same time.

“Susan,” Sam says.

“Jeff,” Cas answers.

“What?” Dean’s eyes are bugging.

Sam sees an excellent opening to make Dean understand that he is okay with Dean liking guys. “Huh. Well he is kinda cute…”

“‘Kinda cute?’ He is more than that! I’ve always had a thing for Richard Coyle. Did you see him in Pusher and Crossbones? That smile? - _Gorgeous.”_

Dean has had his hand resting loosely on Castiel’s stomach up until now but when Cas starts gushing over the actor, his brother’s arm snakes around him more deliberately. Sam wonders if Dean’s even aware that he’s doing that.

“I don’t know, I prefer _whatshisname_ , Jack Davenport? Who plays Steve. He’s in Pirates of the Caribbean too, right?” Sam says.

“Right. So you prefer the more classical masculine beauty. I bet Chris Evans is your type?”

“Absolutely! I’d jump at a chance to spend the night with him.”

“Sam?!” Dean’s been following their discussion with a sort of whatta-fuck-is-going-on expression on his face up until Sam’s last statement.

Sam decides to act as if this is an ordinary everyday sort of discussion. After all, Dean started it. “What? You gotta admit, Captain America is one sexy dude. ‘Sides, he kinda reminds me of that guy Brady I had a thing with in high school.”

 

Before Dean can respond to that, Cas takes the word, for which Sam is grateful. He’s still nervous about what his big brother would say if he knew exactly what Sam had been up to when he wasn’t looking. It sure had gone a whole lot further than truth or dare.

“Brady? You never told me about him. Was he good looking?”

“Hell yeah. Blond, built, jock type, but nice. Most popular guy in school.” Sam grins.

“Good for you.” Cas grins back. “Or good for him. You Winchesters are fine specimens, after all,” Cas says and pats Dean’s hand where it’s clutching at his stomach. 

Dean blushes but smirks and looks down on Cas waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You bet we are!”

Sam laughs and returns his attention to the TV while giving himself another mental high five for easing his brother into this bisexual thing. He takes note that Dean’s arm remains proprietarily snaked around Cas waist.

“Hey, why don’t we go to the shooting range tomorrow and fire a couple of rounds?” Sam suggests.

“I’m down. How ‘bout you, Angel?”

“Guns are not really my thing…” Cas says hesitantly.

“Aww, come on. It’ll be fun,” Dean coaxes.

“Alright. As long as you don’t expect me to actually hit something,” Cas grouses.

“Great!” Sam smiles. “We can go straight after breakfast.”

“As long as you’re not too much in a hurry. I have enough self-perception to realise that handing me a gun before the coffee has worked its wonders in the morning, might not be in the top 10 of bright ideas.”

They all laugh at that before they go back to watch TV.

* * *

1 ½ seasons of _Coupling_ and an empty bottle of whiskey later they conclude they’re too tired to watch further. Sam’s the first one to hit the bathroom to prepare for sleep. As soon as he leaves the room Cas twists around onto his stomach and heaves himself up over Dean’s chest, claiming his lips with a kiss. Dean’s unprepared and emits a small yelp, but it doesn’t take long before he becomes pliant and reciprocates, threading his hands through Castiel’s hair. It’s a languid kiss and Cas makes a happy little noise in the back of his throat as their tongues explore each other. Dean tastes of whiskey and Cas’ senses are going haywire.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he says when they break the kiss.

“Yeah. Me too, Angel.” Dean smiles warmly and leans in for another kiss. This one has a little more heat. 

Cas breaks it off. “If we don’t stop this now, Sam will come out of the bathroom to find us making out here on the couch. Is that something you want? I don’t mind, but the decision is yours.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. He can mind his own fucking business.” 

“Very well. You can take the bathroom first.” Cas pushes himself off Dean and sits up just seconds before Sam emerges.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up in a couple of hours. I'm editing it as we speak. :)


	45. Enter the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is nervous and waiting for Cas to come to the bedroom. He is about to sleep with his _boyfriend_ for the first time. And maybe, hopefully, not only sleep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter:**
> 
>   * Sexy times with DubCon elements. I’m marking this dub-con because Cas is being a little shit to get his will through and push the limits. But what happens **IS** consensual, albeit pushy. Plus we see inside Dean's head, which doesn't fully correspond with what comes out of his mouth. I went for a realistic approach when it came to two individuals that are horny as hell and are somewhat intoxicated. 
>   * Unsafe sex. Always use a condom and all that jazz. Yadda yadda. I’m not here to perch on your shoulder okay? You want lectures about how to avoid STD and how it’s equally good with a condom (it isn’t) Cas is not your go-to guy. Neither am I apparently. But. You know. Always use a condom. Right. _Moving on_ ―
> 

> 
> Oh and while we're at it; I always update the tags before I publish a new chapter. Does anyone that's already a follower of the fic look at the updated tags? *curious*
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**NEW EXPERIENCES**

* * *

Dean is stupidly nervous, butterflies going wild in his belly when Cas enters the bedroom and locks the door. He’s huddled under the comforter in only his underwear. During his time waiting for Cas to come in here, he has fretted about whether he should put on a T-shirt or take his underwear off altogether. Which is stupid as fuck. He knows he looks good, that’s not why he’s nervous. It’s partly because he’s got all these fucking feelings that makes him vulnerable, and partly because Cas is a guy so he’s practically a virgin in this context. Depending on how you see it―he _**is**_ a virgin. He isn’t sure exactly what Cas―his _boyfriend_ for Christ sake!―expects from him. And yeah. That ‘boyfriend’ part freaks him out quite a bit. Just a couple of months ago he’d been denying to himself that he even _could_ be sexually attracted to a guy. And look at him now. His dad would be spinning so fast in his grave that he accidentally drilled himself straight through the coffin and then pummelled on until he reached China. (Serves him right, the fucking bastard!) The good part about that, though, is that Cas has bypassed a helluva lot of awkward behaviour trying to figure out if they are just dating casually or if they are going steady. Displaying his usual blunt, dominant confidence, Cas had simply declared them boyfriends and that was that. 

But the epithet came with expectations. Sex. And yeah. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for the whole shebang yet. Does Cas expect it? Would he turn a cold shoulder if Dean wants to stop? And if they do go all the way, is it he or Cas that would, you know… And if he is the one to, you know… Will it hurt? Will Cas be disappointed by his lack of experience? What if he makes a fool out of himself and Cas changes his mind about wanting him? Oh God! What if he becomes so nervous he can’t get it up?! Yeah. Maybe not such a big risk of that happening, considering he’d had trouble _not_ coming at first touch with Cas this far. But still! He’s so out of his depths right now. 

_Christ_! It’s like being a young teen all over!

Cas stands still for a moment just looking at him with a soft smile and his head tilted. He looks so relaxed and adoring that Dean feels some of the stress he’s worked up melt away.

“Hey, Angel,” he says softly. His voice comes our warm and steady and Cas responds to it by smiling wider.

Then Cas takes off his shirt and throws it in the laundry basket while he keeps looking at Dean. He takes off his socks which follow the same route as the shirt. He unbuttons his jeans and hooks his thumbs in both his jeans and underwear and Dean feels himself growing tenser. Cas notices and halts his movement. Instead, he only takes off his jeans and kicks them away. Then he’s just standing there again. Wearing only a pair of tight, navy coloured Björn Borg trunks that suit him really well. Dean can see that he is half hard already. Cas makes no move towards the bed. He lets Dean’s gaze roam freely with a secret little smile that has Dean’s heart beating faster.

It’s not like Dean hasn’t seen him in this state of undress before. Hell, the centerfold poster with the both of them is hanging on the wall behind Cas after all. But this time he’s standing there in the flesh and untouched by photoshop. For some reason, Cas always gives off an impression of being slender in a way that he really isn’t. He is built, broad shoulders and strong muscles, but not as compact as Dean. There’s nothing feminine about his body, yet he is strikingly beautiful to Dean. Relaxed as he is now you can see he has some body fat over his muscles, making his lines softer. Dean thinks he gained a little weight during his time banned from the ice, but it suits him. He doesn’t have any chest hair and there’s a birthmark over one of his dusky nipples, smaller and darker than Dean’s own. Then there’s that tantalizing thin happy trail leading down into his underwear and it does things to Dean. He still has, same as Dean, a bruise on his shoulder from when Dean bit him two weeks ago.

Dean meets his eyes. With a smirk to hide his nervousness he twirls a finger in a circle, a gesture for Cas to turn around. Cas chuckles but obliges.

Oh shit. Fuck! _Christ_!

Dean apparently _really_ has a thing for Castiel’s well-muscled back. Cas strikes a pose and manages to look natural doing so. He raises an arm and rubs his neck while throwing a knowing look at Dean over his shoulder. “Like what you see, Dean?” He smirks.

Dean grins. Hell yeah! He must have made some appreciative noise considering Castiel’s cockiness. 

“It’s an okay view.” He winks. “Now if you can show off some of your bendiness too, that would be great,” Dean jokes, feeling a bit more of his anxiousness slip away.

Cas snorts in amusements and raises an eyebrow. Then promptly lets his legs glide straight out to the sides in a perfect split. Dean lets out a startled laugh, not expecting Cas to actually comply. It was just a joke after all. Cas is unperturbed and bends over backwards in that position, placing his hands on the floor behind him and rolls up in a handstand while closing his legs again. He’s grinning smugly and does an agonizingly slow push up in hand standing position. All his muscles are clenching now and the guy certainly doesn’t _need_ photoshop, that’s for sure! 

“Fucking show off!” Dean chortles. 

“You asked for it,” Cas answers and does a little jump, spinning on his hands so he ends up with his back towards Dean and―Fuck!―it’s beautiful. The muscles play under his skin as he does another slow push-up and then slowly curves his body backwards until his feet are on the ground again, before he pushes himself up to stand normally. The slow movements accentuate how much strength he actually has. The self-satisfied smirk on his face is well earned. But there’s a playful glint in his eyes and he chuckles as he gets his knees on the bed and yanks the comforter off Dean.

Dean’s grinning like a fool when Cas ogles him appreciatively and licks his lips.

“You have way too many clothes on, Dean. I’ll forgive you for now, but it will soon be rectified,” Cas says from his place at Dean’s feet, eyeing the offending underwear. He strokes Dean’s shins and calves while he speaks. His hands are so fucking soft. Not calloused as Dean’s own.

Dean isn’t very nervous at all anymore. Cas has that calming effect on him and the whiskey they had tonight is doing its part too. Giddy? Yeah. Aroused? Sure. Happy? Absolutely! But all that worry has melted away for the moment. There’s such a frolicsome air around them and the current state of mind reminds him a whole lot of how it felt when they were playing with Lego.

“Oh yeah? I don’t know about that, Cas. This is a luxury you need to earn,” Dean says with a teasing smirk and a lifted eyebrow while gesturing at his own body.

“Really?” Cas voice is a low growl and his eyes turn dark and predatory. He smiles and runs his tongue over his teeth while crouching down a bit over Dean, looking very much like a stalking cat.

“Really,” Dean answers with a lofty, playful tone. 

Cas hisses and that’s all the warning he gets before Cas grabs his ankles and pulls hard. Dean’s tugged halfway down the bed with a surprised yelp and ends up with Cas’ knees between his legs and Cas on all fours leering down at him.

Oh, and this is a definite difference from dating most women. The strength. The body size. Not that women are weak or anything, but the ease with which Cas manhandles him is not something he’s used to in the bedroom. He giggles like a buffoon and doesn’t give a shit.

“And how are you going to stop me?” Cas issues a challenge. And then they are wrestling, Cas trying to get Dean’s underwear off and Dean trying to stop him on principle. Both of them laughing like pre-schoolers. Cas would probably have won if Dean hadn’t suddenly remembered that Cas had seemed ticklish at his birthday party, and digs his fingers into Cas’ waist. Cas actually _howls_ in panic, so Dean has to cover his mouth with a hand and stop tickling or Sam will come storming in wondering who’s dying. Somehow he ends up on top of Cas, both of them panting and grinning at each other.

“Cheater.” 

“That wasn’t cheating, that was _tactics_ ,” Dean answers and Cas giggles, nose crinkling and eyes aglow. He’s so beautiful like this, cheeks flushed, eyes dark blue like a stormy sea, and hair in a disarray. Dean’s suddenly very aware of their proximity. The soft skin and heat pressed against him. The minty toothpasty puffs of exerted breath, and the scent. Dean strokes the hair out of Cas’ face and the air in the room changes, becomes more loaded. Dean rolls halfway off Cas and supports his head with his hand, elbow on the pillow beside Cas head, one leg slung over Cas’ crotch. He can feel Cas erection pressing into his thigh.

He strokes his hand over Cas’ jawline, stubble scratching against his fingers. Cas’ eyes are locked with his, gaze becoming more intense while the grin softens into a smile. “You’re beautiful,” Dean says.

“Mmhmm,” Cas answers. It sounds like a purr. He’s looking at Dean like he is one of the wonders of the world and all those nervous butterflies return. Cas leans up, supporting himself on his elbows and licks his lips while looking at Dean’s mouth. Dean closes the distance and moulds their lips together. Cas opens up to him, mouth hot and minty, and their tongues glide exploratory over each other. Dean breaks the kiss when he feels Cas fingering the faded bite mark on Dean’s shoulder.

“It has faded. I’ll have to fix that later,” Cas says and Dean rolls his hips against him. Something feral waking up at the thought of Cas re-asserting his claim.

“I’ll fix yours too. But on purpose this time.”

Cas makes a pleased growl and tugs him in for another kiss. His hands slide down to Dean’s underwear and this time Dean helps him ease them off him. Castiel's hands roam over his body trailing sparks of electricity and their kiss becomes insistently more heated. Cas breaks it to kiss, lick and nip his way down Dean’s jaw, neck, collarbone. Then he turns them over so he’s on top of Dean again before he continues mapping out Dean’s body with his mouth and hands. He keeps his eyes on Dean, gauging his every reaction. Finding every sensitive spot Dean has and only grazing past things Dean doesn’t like. It’s uncanny, his ability to read Dean’s body language. Dean lets his hands roam over what parts of Cas he can reach, but when Cas catches on to how sensitive Dean’s nipples are he throws his head back and fists the sheets, rutting up against Cas’ stomach. Cas is a fucking pro. Picking Dean apart, piece by piece with his hot mouth and clever fingers. 

“ _Shhh_ … Dean. I need you to be quiet or Sam will hear you. Can you be quiet for me?” Cas chastises, his voice rougher than usual.

Dean hadn’t even realised that he’s making sounds, spouting profanities and encouragements like a friggin’ porn star. He hasn’t needed to stay quiet since screwing girls in their parents’ house in high school.

“Fuck you, Angel!”

Cas chuckles and stops what he's doing.

“No no! Don’t stop! I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet,” Dean pleads in frustration. Cas chuckles again and crawls up his chest to kiss him. The kiss is hot and filthy. Cas makes needy sounds into it that drive Dean mad. Dean’s cock slides between them, slicked with precome and he feels heat begin to pool. Then Cas slides his hands under Dean to grip his butt cheeks. He rolls his hips and Dean feels Cas’ cockhead nudge at his hole. It makes him instantly tense up and break the kiss, a flare of panic in his chest. He has no idea when Cas took his trunks off. But that is _definitely_ a naked dick poking at him.

_ShitShitShitShit_

“AngelI’mnotreadyforthat,” tumbles out of his mouth in an incoherent jumble.

Cas doesn’t stop rolling his hips, he’s smearing precome over Dean’s hole, teasing it with the tip of his cock. And… It feels good. It feels really good.

Thing is, he’s never actually had anal sex. _At all_. He has never touched himself that way and never done it with a girl either. Yeah fine. So he’s been with more women than he cares to count, but it has been mostly one night stands or short affairs and he isn’t so stupid as to confuse reality with porn━you don’t fuck a woman in the ass when you’ve only just met her. And with Cassie and Lisa, it never came up. So. This is fucking scary.

Cas hitches an arm up to support himself on one elbow while the other hand is still wrapped around gripping Dean’s ass, lifting him up a bit to gain better access. Now that Dean can actually see Cas’ face…

Fuck! 

Castiel looks utterly debauched. Eyes glazed over and pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow up the whole iris. Cheeks flushed, panting, lips kiss-swollen and glistening with saliva. He looks _so fucking hot_ like this!

“Do you want me to stop, Dee?” he rasps and Dean whimpers.

“No.”

_Hell no_! No stopping. Uh-uh. Just maybe not━

Cas bends his head down and press his lips lightly against Dean’s, not quite sealing them together, just breathing in Dean’s harsh breaths and sharing his own. “You must tell me if I need to stop, Dean. You affect me in a way I’ve never experienced before. I find that the desire you incite in me, demolishes my self-discipline and eradicates my control.” The words are spoken directly into his mouth, barely more than raspy breaths. “The merest touch of your skin is exhilarating, taking me to heights previously unachieved without the use of psychotropic euphoriants. You are like a node of magical power, untamed and raw. Propinquity to you allows me to feel it, like a brush of electricity and I want to deluge myself in it. The need to merge with you is so overwhelming I do not think I could stop if you do not actively take measures to thwart me.” 

Dean is clawing at Cas’ back and tugging his hair. He is rutting up at Cas’ stomach in a counter-rhythm to Cas’ hip rolls so he feels the tip of Cas’ cock slide in just a little bit on his own down-roll. He’s dizzy and can’t tell if it’s because of the limited oxygen, his arousal or Castiel’s words. Probably all of them.

_Christ_! It’s like being a bed with a librarian! (Actually, no. He’s slept with a librarian. All she said was ‘Fuck me!’) Had he not been so fucking _turned on_ he would have laughed out loud. This is by far the weirdest dirty talk he has heard. But every word hits home and makes his senses overload. His heart feels like it’s going to expand out of his rib cage and his stomach is doing flip-flops.

What Cas is saying in ‘normal-speak’ is ‘ _You make me so hot I can’t control myself. You’re like I drug. I want to fuck you so badly I can’t stop unless you make me._ ’ Except, it conveys more than that. Makes him feel worth of something, and believe he actually _means_ something to Cas - that he is _special._

“ _Angel_.” His voice sounds wrecked even to himself. “I’ve never... I…”

Cas kisses him then, intense, hot and dirty. Zapping his brain function with a stun gun. “I _need_ to be inside of you. _Please,_ ” Cas pleads when they break for air.

And yeah. Okay. What’s he got to lose? Other people obviously enjoy it. So what if it hurts? He can take the pain. And it’d make Cas happy. He is fucking _begging_ for it! ** _Begging_!** Shit.

Dean doesn’t want to stop. He’s so fucking horny he’d probably explode if they stopped now. Fuck it. It’s going to happen sooner or later anyway right? _Right_?

Dean nods and Cas doesn’t waste any time before he starts working his way down, kissing, licking, sucking and nipping with that hot mouth of his. Once again paying a fair amount of attention to Dean’s nipples. Then further down to his stomach and hips, biting at the hipbone. Remembering to keep quiet Dean bites down on his own hand to keep profanities from spilling out.

“Good boy...” Castiel purrs. “I’m going to make you come. It’ll help you relax.” Then wet heat encases his cock. Cas mouth sinks down over it and up again. His teeth scrape lightly over the head, something Dean really likes when it’s done correctly and a sound of pleasure escapes around his hand. Cas works him over. Repeatedly he sinks down far enough to trigger his gag reflex and comes up to use the additional slimy saliva that causes, to slick himself up as well as tease Dean’s hole with a slicked up finger. Once he sets a pace it’s all she wrote for Dean. He reaches down and grabs Cas’ hair trying to pull him off as a warning, but Cas resists and he swallows Dean’s whole load greedily while making needy desperate noises.

When Dean’s lying there blissed out, Cas line himself up and presses in slowly. Agonizingly slow really. Just presses lightly against his hole and sinks in as Dean’s hole relaxes, not pushing forward at all. He has an expression of deep concentration. Dean supports himself on his elbows to look.

“ _Hell_ no! That ain’t gonna fit!” Dean blurts when he actually _sees_ Castiel’s cock for the first time. Cas’ cock is about the same size as his own, mayhap slightly larger. But in this context, it seems enormous to Dean. His butthole clenches inadvertently around Cas’ cockhead and Cas nearly goes cross-eyed. 

“Just relax, Dean. Trust me,” Cas chokes out.

Dean falls back down and throws an arm over his eyes, focussing on relaxing. It _is_ easier in the afterglow of his own release, but still not completely simple. As he unclenches Cas slides fully in with his head and stops, panting. He strokes Dean’s thighs and midriff. “Good boy, just like that. _Good_ boy.”

Well that wasn’t so bad. A bit uncomfortable maybe? But not so bad. “Dammit, Angel! Won’t you just fuck me already!”

And where did _that_ come from? Okay, so he wants to get it over with. He’s going to get fucked. For the first time, Dean Winchester―ladies’ man No.1―is going to get fucked. By a _guy_. In the ass, for Christ sake! Of his own free will. Which he starts having second thoughts about right about now, so could Cas please just hurry up and get it over with?

“Relax. I have to take it slow because my girth is wider in the middle so if I push in right now it will hurt badly. I need you to relax.” Cas voice is so strained Dean has to peek from under his arm and _holy shit._

That mask of composure Cas is always wearing? Not so much right now. He’s panting hard, trembling with the effort to restrain himself, sweat beading his face, and his expression is one of suffering. It’s fucking _awesome_! Dean did that to him! Removed his mask. Dean’s overcome with a great sense of affection for his Angel. His _boyfriend_. Don’t forget that part. That’s important. 

Dean pushes back with his hips and Cas slides in further, making it apparent why he is taking it so slowly, because it fucking _burns_. So worth it, though, because Cas screws his eyes shut and falls forward with a keening sound. He’s falling apart and Dean’s the one making him. 

Dean hooks his legs over Castiel’s ass and pulls Cas’ hip closer, forcing himself to sheath another half inch― _Motherfucker that hurts!_ ―before Cas resists him and pulls out a bit, relieving the pain somewhat. Dean’s still trying to press him back in and Cas is straining to keep from doing that.

“ _FuckFuckFuck_! DammitDean **_stop_!** ” Castiel grinds the words out between clenched teeth. 

Dean stops due to the desperate edge of Cas’ voice. They’re both panting hard now, but for different reasons. Dean’s panting from the rush of endorphins flooding his system as a response to the pain. Cas is panting and trembling in exertion from fighting his wish to comply with Dean’s foolhardy push and just slam it home.

“Dean. Do that and I’m going to end up tearing you open and that will hurt like Hell for you. Keep. Still! _Please_!” Cas says when he has gathered his wits about enough to talk, still with his eyes squeezed shut and a strained expression.

“Ca- _aas,_ ” Dean whines in response and goes pliant.

Taking that as a yes Cas spits in one of his hands and slicks the part of his cock not buried in Dean up some more. The immediate pain has faded and now his entrance is just throbbing. Cas kisses him, supports himself on one elbow and cradles his head with that hand while the other strokes back and forth over one nipple. The tingling sensation it sends through his body combined with the hot kisses soon has Dean distracted. 

He’s getting hard again and moans into the kiss. Cas makes small gyrating movements with his hips. Dean relaxes a little with each roll, taking him in a tiny bit further, and further. This time it doesn’t hurt, just burns slightly. Another moan into Cas mouth and Cas kisses and licks his way down. Jaw, neck, sucks at his pulse point. Works his way to suck at his bite mark. Dean starts making counter movements to Castiel’s gyration, feels himself stretch wider. It feels… He can’t make up his mind about how it feels. Somewhere between ‘ _Hell yeah_! Keep going!’ and ‘ _ShitShitShit_ you gotta stop!’. But then Cas makes needy, suffering noises that lights fires in Dean.

“Mine! You’re mine, Angel! _Mine_!” Dean hisses in Cas’ ear. 

Cas whimpers and sinks his teeth into the bite mark on Dean’s shoulder. _Hard._

 

_FuckYesShitFuckMineChristYES!_

 

Dean isn’t even aware Cas has bottomed out until Cas grabs his hip, stops it from moving and gasps for air.

“ _Fuck, Dee_! Be still or I will come _right now_! You’re so bloody _tight_!”

Dean tries to be still. He does. But right now he’s turned the fuck on and as weird as it is having a dick in his ass, his body is somehow asking for more. He’s stretched and throbbing but the worst part is passed.

“Come on, Angel. _Gimme_!”

Cas starts to move, slowly at first, then faster, thrusting deeper. It feels surprisingly good. Cas sits up, yanking Dean up on his thighs thus changing the angle. Dean thinks he might be developing a new kink for being manhandled. Then Cas thrusts, hitting a spot inside of him and―

 

_HOLYFUCKINGSHITMOTHERFUCKER!!!_

 

―Dean’s back arches clear of the bed and he has to slap a hand over his mouth and nose to mute his wordless cry. Cas stills.

“Whatta fuck was that?!” he says and stares at Cas with round eyes.

Cas chortles. He is looking at Dean with a giddy, toothy smile and awe in eyes. “ _That_. Is your prostate,” he grins. “And you’re lucky. I’m not nearly as sensitive as you are in that area. This is going to be fun. Just remember to be quiet.” 

That’s the only warning Dean gets before Cas starts thrusting again, setting a gruelling pace and hitting that spot with every thrust. Hopefully, Sam’s sleeping in his bed right now because even if Dean is quiet, (he isn’t coherent enough to know if he is, he just presses his hand over his mouth and hopes for the best) the telltale sound of bodies slapping together would sure as Hell give them away. Dean’s building up so fast it’s ridiculous. And then he’s coming again, almost whiting out in the process. When he’s coming down he hears Cas choke out; “Fuck! Fuck, Dee! _Fuck_!” Before his movements become erratic and then still completely except for a couple of spasms. The grip on his hips loosens. Dean opens his eyes to see Cas slumped down looking at him adoringly. He’s smiling slackjawed, totally blissed out. Chest and face flushed. Body glistening with sweat. His hair (it’s getting longer) sticks to his forehead and curls in the nape of the neck.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous, Angel.”

Cas chuckles and tilts head lazily, slow grin widening on his red lips. “I’m nothing compared to you,” he says and swipes up the come on Dean’s chest and stomach with a finger, contentedly licking it clean. Then he lays down on Dean without slipping out of him. “You are extraordinary. Perfect for me.” Cas strokes his hair and cheek lovingly. The look in his eyes is soft and brimming with affection. 

Dean gets all mushy inside. Butterflies and tingles and warmth. There’s a slight ache in his chest that he doesn’t want to think about. All these fucking feelings. It’s downright scary.

“I can get used to doing that,” he says instead.

Cas chuckles lazily. “You must know, I lost control and got very selfish. What I should have done was to stretch you open slowly, one finger at a time and lots of lubricant. That’s the ‘correct’ way to do it.” He doesn’t use his hands but Dean can _hear_ the air quotes. “It would have been much more pleasurable for you. Especially since you turned out to be an impatient bloody _twat_ and tried to rip yourself open.”

Dean sniggers and brushes Cas’ hair out of his sweaty forehead. “So why didn’t you?” he asks, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ve desired you for so long, Dean. Having you writhing underneath me reduced my self-command to non-existent. And I didn’t want anything artificial to mess up the scent or taste of you. The gag reflex changes the consistency of the saliva, makes it slimier and thus suitable as a lubricant. I wanted our first time to be just me and you in every sense.”

As a response Dean lifts his head to the bruise on Cas’ shoulder and digs his teeth in. Increasing the pressure until he almost breaks skin. He’s rewarded with a hiss and Cas’ hips bucking involuntarily. He feels Cas softening dick in his ass give a twitch and start to fill. He eases his teeth off and soothes the improved mark of ownership with his tongue. Cas makes a low keening sound and rocks slowly into Dean, rapidly coming to full mast again. Dean rolls him over on his back, straddling him, kissing his way to Cas’ mouth. They trade languid kisses, Cas hand roaming over his back and shoulders. Dean gyrates his hips along with Castiel’s rolls, caressing his hair and face.

It’s different this time. Slower, not so desperate, more intimate. The fluttery feeling in Dean’s gut intensifies. The feeling of intimacy reminds him of the club when Cas asked him to give in. He locks his lips over Castiel’s the way Cas had done, then and draws breath. They trade off, becoming increasingly dizzy and out of breath, world creeping in to just entail the two of them. It still feels a bit weird. But very personal and trusting, and Dean likes it. Possibly too because Cas obviously _loves_ it, becoming increasingly animated. Wrapping his arms around Dean pressing him to his chest and fucking into him with more fervour. They kiss again, hot and wet. Cas makes all these delicious little noises. Low moans, keening whimpers, groans. 

“ _Dee_ , can I come?”

 

_Holy shit why is he even asking that?_

 

Dean lifts his head to get a good look at Cas. He’s a goner! Totally out of it, looking close to tears. It eludes Dean how he hasn’t blown his load yet looking like that. So of course, _of course_ , Dean says “No.”

Cas makes a drawn-out suffering sound and screws his eyes shut.

“Keep moving, Angel. But don’t come. Hold back for me. Just hold it,” Dean urges.

And Cas does, looking more and more pained by the second. He bites his lip and squirms and writhes under Dean, falling apart like the Berlin wall. It’s fucking exhilarating! One of the sexiest things Dean has ever seen.

“Can’t!”

“Hold it. Just a little longer. Soon, Cas. Soon.”

“ _Deeee_ …..!”

Dean takes pity and leans down, whispering in Cas ear, lips brushing the shell. “Fill me up…”

And that’s that. Cas comes with a silent cry, arching up from the bed and if he hadn’t held on to Dean so tightly he might have bucked him off. He jerks violently a couple of times and then goes completely limp, breath coming in harsh pants. His hooded eyes are open but not seeing. He’s bleeding from the lip from biting down too hard. Dean licks the blood off and kisses his face. Cas is too out of it to reciprocate. It doesn’t matter. He’s amazing like this and Dean showers him with soft praise and compliments. 

Cas’ dick slides out of him and he feels hot sperm run down over his perineum. The thought that they’d forgot to use a condom hits him then. Right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the faint burn that lingers either. All he cares about is the man that has come undone underneath him. He rolls off him and tucks him against his chest. Cas is completely lax. It doesn’t take long for both of them to drift off to sleep.

He wakes up a short while later. Sticky between his legs and with fingers gently stroking his hair. He opens his eyes to find Cas lying on his side, watching him with warmth in his eyes and a secret little smile.

“We forgot to use a condom,” is the first thing Dean says. Cas makes a grossed out face.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘forgot’, as much as ‘didn’t use on purpose’,” Cas replies with a disgusted tone while making one-handed air quotes.

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a huge turn off for me. I can’t stand the smell. It’s good enough for random pickups and one night stands, but you and I will _never_ use them. If you can’t accept that we won’t be doing this again.”

Dean chuckles. “That sounds an awfully lot like blackmail, Cas,” he chides but isn’t very upset about it. Maybe he should be. He hasn’t had unprotected sex since high school. And he probably wouldn’t have forgone it if he had been the one on top tonight.

Cas shrugs one shoulder and smirks. “I’ve never said I fight fair. Besides, I can still blow you.”

“Fair enough.” Dean laughs and kisses Cas. There’s no way he’s going to settle for just blowjobs. Condoms or not.

“As much as I don’t want to break this up, if you want to keep up appearance in front of Sam we should probably shower,” Cas says when they break apart.

Dean hits the shower first, feeling relieved by the sound of snores coming from Sam’s room. His ass is sore and it stings when he washes it, but he still feels friggin’ fantastic. And for once if someone cracks a joke about his bowlegged gait they might actually be right. The thought makes him snigger. He doesn’t bother with clothes when he crawls back into bed. Cas comes back from the shower and curls up behind him. Warm and blessedly naked. Their fingers intertwine over Dean’s heart and a kiss is pressed to the knob on top of his spine.

“G’nite, Angel.”

“Good night, Dean.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus:** Cas POV for this chapter:
> 
> _“ASDFGHJKL!!!”_
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay. Right.  
> As always - please comment? It makes my day and keeps my muse invested.


	46. Waking of the Grump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up to find the bed empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No Warnings for this chapter**
> 
> **Notes:** Just so we’re clear. While Sam, Dean, and Cas are growing increasingly close - do NOT mistake it for Wincestiel. That is not what’s happening. Just want to point that out.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**AN EMPTY BED**

* * *

Dean’s not sure what wakes him, but Castiel’s side of the bed is empty and the heat begins to fade from the sheets. The clock shows it’s 05:11 AM. The bedroom door is open but no lights are turned on. “Cas?” Dean calls out but hears no reply so Dean presumes he’s in the bathroom. Deciding to follow his example Dean gets out of bed and puts on underwear and a tee. He’s a bit sore, but not as bad as he’d expected. When he steps out of the bedroom the first thing he sees is the open bathroom door.

The bathroom is empty.

Then he hears a sob and instinct takes over, he’s by Sam’s door before he even realises he’s moving. The door is slightly ajar, light spilling out. He opens it. Cas is sitting in the bed with one of Sam’s T-shirts on, leaning against the wall. Sam is curled into a sobbing ball in his arms while Cas rocks him gently, cooing reassurances. Dean sits down next to him and tugs the both of them into his arms, burying his head in Sam’s hair.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, Sammy. You’re safe, I’m here now. It was just a dream.”

Sam switches his grip and clings to Dean without moving away from Cas. He is sobbing uncontrollably. Cas adjusts himself so his embrace encases both brothers and it plucks on Dean’s heartstrings.

“It was so real, Dean. _Soo real_! When I woke up I didn’t know where I was. I thought I was still back there.” Sam sobs. He’s fucking shaking. Once again reduced to a small terrified child. This was apparently a bad one. Dean hasn’t seen this level of fright in his brother since the year between 16 and 17 when Sam would wake up in a total state of terror and confusion, still convinced he was wherever he had been in his dream. Dean doesn’t know where that was because Sam would clam up about it and only once had let slip it had nothing to do with their dad.

“You’re at home in your bed, Sam. Me and Dean are here. We both love you very much and won’t let anything happen to you,” Cas says with a soft, affectionate voice and damned if Dean’s heart isn’t about to burst because of it. How can he just _say_ things like that? You don’t tell people you love them like you mean it with such ease. Cas strokes the tears from Sam’s cheek with the hand not wrapped around Dean, and there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that Cas means every word.

Dean doesn’t know what they have done to deserve Cas coming into their lives. He sends a mental (and probably inappropriate) ‘ _thank you_ ’ to Castiel’s sister Anna for dying and causing Cas to come here. And he should probably send Lucifer a fruit basket for introducing Sam and Cas. At least that’s _one_ good thing that douchebag has done.

Slowly Sam’s sobs start to abate. “Sorry I woke you, Cas.”

Cas strokes his fingers through Sam’s hair. “No apologies needed. We all have our moments and you have nothing to be ashamed of.” A teasing smile creeps up on his face and he adds with dry humour lacing his voice; “Although, the next time I would appreciate if you’d give me a two-hour notice and have a full pot of coffee ready before you have a nightmare.”

Both brothers laugh at that, which dispels some of the heaviness of fright and sorrow in the air. Dean decides there and then that Sam is right. They can, and should, tell Cas about their past. Judging by his reaction on seeing Sam wail like a baby, it’s unlikely it will be met by anything but acceptance.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks Sam.

“No. But… could you guys just... Stay for a bit? I don’t think I can go back to sleep otherwise.” Sam looks up at Dean pleadingly. Dean thinks he is one brave motherfucker for it. This is one moment where he is the most laid bare and vulnerable. A moment usually reserved for him and Dean alone, when they forgo their adulthood to act as the two small boys they once were, seeking comfort and protection from each other. It goes to show how much trust Sam has in Cas that he includes him in this.

“Yeah, Sammy. We’ll stay,” Dean answers and crawls under the comforter, Cas following his example, bracketing Sam between them. Dean stretches an arm out to cut the light, then cradles Sam’s head against his chest. Sometime later he feels Cas’ hand stroke his hair gently while he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

**WAKING THE BEAST**

* * *

Sam wakes up slowly to the noise of Dean rummaging in the kitchen and singing softly. That’s a good sign. There’s an arm thrown around his waist and a warm body pressed up against his back. Cas. That immediately brings back memories of his nightmare, most likely sparked by Castiel bringing up the _Porodica_ yesterday. Cas’ reaction to his nightmare, though, calm and comforting but without pity. Sam hates being pitied. It feels demeaning. Sam has a good life and even during the worst parts of it he has been luckier than most, since he’s always had somebody who supported and cared for him. Not everybody is so blessed.

They had fallen asleep all three of them in Sam’s smaller bed. It felt a bit weird waking up with his best friend snuggled close at his back but he doesn’t mind. Falling asleep with both Dean and Cas curled protectively around him had given him that _HappyHomeFamily_ feeling again just before he drifted off. Now he was even more determined to fix his brother up with Cas. He’d be damned if he’d let this go!

A loud clatter followed by a string of curses from the kitchen wakes Cas up with a disgruntled _growl._ Right. Morning temper. That is why it’s good that Cas sleeps with Dean, not with him. Apart from muttering incoherently and burrowing his head deeper into the pillow, Cas doesn’t stir. Sam’s bladder requests attention and he attempts to wriggle free.

“No!” Cas protests with a pissy voice and tugs him back in.

“Cas, I gotta pee.”

“Try not to get the sheets wet and aim for the floor,” Cas mutters.

Sam chuckles. “Cas. Let me go. I really gotta pee.”

At that moment Dean comes into the room. “Rise and shine, ladies! I made breakfast,” he chirps.

“Bloody Hell! Can you two twats just _shut up_ and let me sleep!” Cas protests and makes a shooing motion with the arm that had been holding Sam. Sam takes the opportunity to free himself and rolls out of bed. Cas makes a lunge for him that he evades. Dean is caught by the swiping hand, though, and is instantly tugged into bed with a yelp.

“You battle the dragon while I hit the toilet,” Sam says and leaves Dean to try to fend off Castiel’s determined and ill-tempered cuddle demands.

He takes his time in the bathroom. Relieving himself, brushing his teeth and shaving. He washes himself up rudimentarily over the sink, opting to forgo a shower since it’s so cold outside and he doesn’t want to get his hair wet. When he emerges from the bathroom he is surprised to find Cas sitting fully dressed in the kitchen rather than being burrowed down in his bed. He goes to put fresh clothes on before he joins his brother and his friend. Dean moves around the kitchen singing ‘Ramble On’ by _Led Zeppelin_ while Cas is stabbing a plate of pancakes like it was his mortal enemy.

He sits down opposite from Cas where Dean sets down a plate filled with pancakes for him, alongside the morning newspaper and serves him coffee. Unlike Mister Thundercloud on the other side, Dean’s in a really chipper mood. Cas is sporting the most spectacular bedhead in the history of bedheads. It really goes to show how that deliberate bedhead he often wears his hair in really is just that - _deliberate._

“Your hair is getting long, maybe you should consider getting it cut,” Sam offers and Cas halts his movements long enough to send him a death glare.

“Naw. He looks adorable like this!” Dean teases and ruffles Cas hair, cackling in delight and dancing out of range when Cas swats at him.

Sam laughs and shakes his head at their antics.

“You’re evil and I hate you both,” Cas concludes darkly and returns his focus to his food.

Taking Castiel’s cue, Sam too starts eating his breakfast and reading the paper. Dean joins them after refilling Cas’ coffee (tactical move) and the morning feels just so wonderfully domestic. Sam reads the paper and circles odd news with a red marker like he always does, followed by a commentary of; “Guys. Get this…”

47 minutes later Cas snaps out of dragon-mode like someone flipped a switch (there is rarely an in-between phase) and they are all set to go.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment! :D


	47. Rule No.3 Never accept candy from a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July the 12th 7 years ago Sam meets Michael for the first time. The meeting has consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to give you the shooting range scene first to ease you into these upcoming flashbacks, but I realised Sam's nightmare was enough. So I rearranged a little. This chapter and the next one are shorter than usual. It's because they are really part of the same chapter and I decided to be an asshole about it and mess with your heads a bit. No worries. The next chapter will be up shortly enough.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**July the 12th, 2007**

* * *

The sun is beating down ruthlessly, the heat stifling. Sweat makes Sam’s T-shirt cling to his body, his hair to his forehead. He’s said goodbye to Brady and his clique 30 minutes ago, opting to stay at the beach instead of going home. Dean’s working in the garage and won’t be home for hours. Right now Sam’s loitering near the ice cream booth, eyeing it longingly. He has spent his last bucks on an ice cold soda an hour ago, but even in the shade the heat is brutal and the relief the cold beverage had provided is long since forgotten.

Somebody touches his shoulder.

“Hi! You’re Sam Winchester, right?”

Sam turns around and immediately tenses up. Michael Filiusdei smiles brightly at him. Tall, tanned, lean, and muscular. Sunglasses on, shorts, shirtless with a long-sleeved T-shirt tied around his hips. He looks like he just stepped out of an Abercrombie photo shoot. Sam stares at the Angel. Nervous due to Lucifer’s warnings.

When Sam doesn’t answer Michael raises his sunglasses to rest on top of his head. His eyes are warm and friendly. “Dean Winchester’s little brother?” he clarifies.

“Um. Yes?”

Michael chuckles. “You’re phrasing that as a question? I’d think you’d know who your brother is.”

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, he’s my brother,” Sam says with more certainty. He feels consternated and stupid by Michael’s good-natured rebuke.

Michael’s bright smile doesn’t waver. He offers his hand to shake. “I’m Michael Filiusdei from the Angels HC. I’m very impressed by Dean’s accomplishments this season. I tried to get him on our team but he is quite stubborn in his refusal.”

Sam reluctantly takes the offered hand. Michael’s handshake is certain. He angles his hand a bit so Sam’s hand is above his, unlike bullies who tends to twist theirs to be on top, to show power. Sam doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this isn’t it.

Sam smiles politely, still wary. He doesn’t really get Lucifer’s warnings, though. Michael seems nice enough. His smile is disarming and he radiates openness. And Sam also feels a sting of pride of his brother. “He is very loyal,” Sam says.

“So I’ve noticed. It does him honour,” Michael agrees with a nod. “So, Sam, you look like you’re about to melt in this heat. Let me buy you an ice cream to help you cool down.”

There’s nothing but friendliness in Michael’s demeanor but Sam’s hackles are instantly up. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come now! It’s just a friendly gesture in honour of your brother. I’m buying one for myself anyway. And you’re a teen, can’t be having too much money, right? It wouldn’t even make a dent in my wallet.”

Sam squirms. “I dunno…”

Michael’s smile falters. He looks disappointed, sadness creeping into his gaze. “Huh. I didn’t think you were like that. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Guess I was wrong.”

Something inside him stings. He is like his brother! Dean has been his role model since forever. “Whatta’ya mean _‘like that’_?” he asks.

“I mean, you didn’t strike me as an angelhater. I didn’t think you bought into the whole Freeville vs Angel Falls crap. Dean certainly didn’t when we were off the ice.” Michael sighs and looks dejected, averting his gaze. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

Sam finds the accusation unfair and untrue. He’s not one of those people that will scorn and bully people based on their street address. True, he doesn’t really know anybody from Angel Falls personally except Lucifer. But it still doesn’t mean he would sink so low as to judge them for where they live. He feels really insulted. “I’m not like that!” 

“Then why won’t you let me buy you an ice cream? I’m just trying to be nice. I had a really good time with Dean at Crossroads and I was just curious if his little brother is as nice as he is.”

Sam, still squirming on the inside, relents. “Okay. I’m sorry if I come across as rude.” He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You know, the whole don’t talk to strangers business…” He offers a tentative smile to the Angel.

Michael smiles back brightly. “Yes, I can understand that. But I’m not a _complete_ stranger after all. So what do you say, will you accept my peace laurel and let me buy you an ice cream?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

They choose their ice creams and sit down together on a bench to eat. Michael makes small talk, tells hockey-related stories that are smart and funny and has Sam cracking up with laughter. Afterwards, Michael gives Sam a friendly pat on the shoulder and offers him a good day before he takes his leave.

* * *

The heat is beating down so hard it leaves the streets deserted. Either people are seeking refuge indoors or hanging out by the lake or by their pools if they’re fortunate enough to have one. The air conditioner at home is broken but Sam is looking forward to taking a bath in cold water when he gets there. Right now it feels like walking in syrup.

Suddenly somebody grabs him from behind, dragging him backwards. One arm around his waist and one wet, clothed hand covering his nose and mouth, preventing him from screaming. Sam squirms, kicks at his assailant's legs, digs his nails into the hand over his mouth while trying to pry it loose. He scratches at the head behind him, throws his weight from one side to the other. It’s useless. Fear and panic surges, shooting adrenaline through his bloodstream and making his heart pound at a frantic pace. He tries to scream, tries to breathe. Too late he realised what the wetness on the cloth over his face is, as the sharp smell of chloroform assaults his nose. His head spins and everything fades to black.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?  
> I will not release the next chapter until this chapter has been commented on. ^^  
> *evil cackle*


	48. Sympathy for the Devil...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up and jumps to conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Angst  
> \- Implied violence against minor  
>  **Warnings for 'Lucifer's Memory':**  
>  \- Graphic animal abuse  
> \- Animal death  
> \- Grief
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Possibly, things aren't what they seem to be. It all comes down to POV.  
> Oh, and take care with the section with the heading "Lucifer's Memory". I bawled like a baby writing it. I know it isn't as graphic as it is in my head, but sensitive readers beware. If you can't handle animal cruelty, just skip it. Just read the bit when Sam and Lucifer interacts and jump the last bit - I separated it and marked it clearly. Lucifer tells Sam the truth, just omits the cruel details about _how_ it happened. I guess the story can function without you knowing the details too if you're sensitive.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**July the 12th, 2007**

* * *

Sam wakes up slowly. Everything is fuzzy and his head is hurting. His whole right side is hurting. From his hipbone up to his shoulder. His ribs hurt, from the middle of his chest up to his collarbones. His mouth is dry. Pine needles are sticking into his back through his shirt and on his legs below his shorts. He can hear birds and insects chirp. There’s something soft pillowing his head.The heat isn’t stifling here. Either it’s later or just better shadow here in... the woods? He opens his eyes and has to blink at the― _too bright_ ―light. Everything is fuzzy but he can discern a tight tree canopy of tall pine and spruce overhead. He tries to sit up with a groan of pain but his head start spinning and everything turns black again.

The next time he wakes up he feels cold. There’s cold covering his injured side. Ice packs? And something cold, soft and wet on his forehead and over his scalp. Washcloth? There are ice packs in other places too. In his armpits, groin, and back. A little bit of water dribbles into his mouth and he swallows reflexively. He tries to move but it hurts and he whimpers.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. I was beginning to seriously worry about heat stroke and dehydration.”

He _knows_ that voice. Who is it again? His brain feels too scrambled to figure it out. It’s too much of an effort to open his eyes.

Something is inserted into his mouth, under his tongue. Plastic? He knows what it is, he knows that he knows but the knowledge eludes him. It doesn’t remain there long. A small, shrill _beep beep_ and the object is removed.

“Your temperature is down to normal again,” the voice says. Then the ice packs in his armpits and on his groin are removed. The ice packs underneath him are dislodged too. “Wouldn’t want you to get hypothermia on the hottest day of the summer this far.”

The cloth on his head is taken away, there’s sound of water splashing and then the cloth comes back, colder and wetter. Feels good.

“Sammy, you need to drink. The water I’ve been dripping into your mouth isn’t enough, but I didn’t want you to choke.”

A thick rubber straw is inserted into his mouth. The kind you have on beer hats or old-school sport water bottles. Sam closes his lips around it and sucks a swallow. It’s tepid, salt and sweet, and tastes a bit stale, like the bottle has been in the sun a bit too long. It doesn’t matter, it tastes like blessed heaven and his body screams out for more so he drinks greedily in tiny swallows. He can feel himself start to perspire. Dehydration maybe wasn’t a bad guess. The sludge in his brain lessens a bit. 

His side doesn’t hurt as bad anymore. Sam puts that down to the ice packs. His head is pounding but he can’t discern if he has taken a hit or if it’s due to heat and thirst.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain. It would be preferable if you would swallow the pills on your own behalf. If not, don’t think I will hesitate to force you.”

Sam finally blinks his eyes open, squinting in the light. It’s shady but still feels like he’s in a spotlight. Vision returns blurrily. Somebody is sitting beside him, leaning over him. Tall, blond, light scruff, ice blue eyes. Lucifer? Lucifer. Sam tries to sit up and groans at all the aches in his body. A strong arm circles around him and helps support him into a slouched sitting position. Lucifer puts two pills in Sam’s mouth with his other hand and then holds up the water bottle (old-school type) for Sam to swallow them with. Sam drinks up the last of the water and lays back down again. He closes his eyes, feeling soo tired. Lucifer is saying something, but Sam doesn’t hear.

The third time Sam wakes up he feels a helluva lot better. There’s still pain in his side but his head doesn’t hurt. It feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and he’s slightly groggy in a pleasant way. Most of his body feels a bit numb. It’s still warm out, but not unpleasantly so. He opens his eyes and blinks. He has been moved. Now he is lying in a grass-covered clearing with a blanket over himself and a rolled up sweater as a pillow. He sits up with a little wince and looks around. A small road, a dirt track really, worms itself through the forest and stops by this clearing. Lucifer’s car is parked nearby and Lucifer is bent over with his back towards Sam, stuffing things in the trunk.

“What happened to me?” Sam asks and struggles himself into a slightly unstable standing position.

“I told you to keep the hell away from Michael and you didn’t listen. _That’s_ what happened,” Lucifer answers gruffly and slams the trunk shut. He turns around and a cold hand squeezes Sam’s heart when he sees Lucifer’s face. Four deep scratch marks run from his temple down his cheek.

Sam lifts his hand that had scratched at his unseen assailant and looks at it. There’s dried blood on them and friggin skin under his nails still. Hot anger flares in his chest and he glares at Lucifer. “So what?! You decided to give me a thrashing for it? For talking to someone else than you?”

Equally hot anger flares in Lucifer’s expression and he seems to be about to say something but then his mouth snaps shut and is squeezed into a thin line. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the trunk, ankles crossed in front of him. He suddenly seems very tired and the anger fades to annoyance. He looks away from Sam. “I suppose that is the logical assumption to make during the circumstances. At least you’re not dead.”

Sam grimaces scornfully. “Yeah right. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. The betrayal burns in his chest. He clings to anger or he might actually cry. Lucifer did this to him. Why? How _could_ he?

“That’s a load of bullshit, Sammy,” Lucifer snaps and looks back at Sam. “Trauma that doesn’t kill you does _not_ make you stronger. It erodes your happiness, your ability to trust, your self-confidence and willingness to love. It makes you jaded and prone to addiction to cope with your experiences. It makes you devalue either yourself or others. It makes you self-destructive and likely to hurt the people you love. It shapes you into a frightened or dangerous shell of a being.”

“Then why’d you do this!?” Sam demands angrily, but his voice quivers slightly. He doesn’t know if Lucifer meant in general or targeted the Winchester household specifically but it hit home. He could have been talking about dad, Dean, or possibly even Sam. Lucifer is good at figuring people out. He probably sees things in Sam that he himself isn’t aware of. And that thought twists Sam’s heart even more. What if Lucifer sees him as something weak and pathetic? What if Sam’s just some stupid game he’d been playing to pass time? What if none of their talks had meant anything and Lucifer had just laughed behind his back for following him like a lost puppy? The anger wavers under the onslaught of pure heartbreak those thoughts bring. Time spent with Lucifer means so much to Sam. He doesn’t know why, but it does. 

Lucifer hisses in frustration through gritted teeth. Then he gestures between the two of them. “This was a mistake. You and I should never have happened.”

And Sam just crumbles on the inside. That confirms it. He means _nothing_. He can no longer hold back the tears that starts friggin _pouring_ down his face because he’s a weak and pathetic _loser_. “Don’t you say that! Don’t say that to me! Not _you_! Bad enough that dad used to call me a mistake when he was drunk. Say it would’ve been better if I was never born. I don’t want to hear it from you too!” He squeezes his eyes shut and bathes in shame of losing it in front of Lucifer. He can’t stop the tears, the sobs.

Then he hears Lucifer move and strong hands grips his face, cupping his cheeks and forcing his head to tilt upward. ”Look at me,” Lucifer demands. Sam pries his eyes open unwillingly and meets Lucifer's very intense gaze. “Sammy _-my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester, you listen to me very carefully right now, okay? You. Are. _Not_. A mistake. You are precious and shine with such inner light, you make all others seem dull in comparison. Me, letting myself care about you, was a mistake because it puts you in danger. But _you_ are not a mistake.” He holds Sam’s gaze a while longer, until Sam hiccups and snivels. Then the intense look disappears from his eyes and he steps away, pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to Sam.

It’s the same one as he’d given Sam to use before, thankfully washed. Sam dries his eyes, cheeks, and blows his nose before handing it over. Now he’s confused. If Lucifer really means what he says, why had he abducted and beat Sam up? Was it jealousy? Because that’s fucked up. Sam can’t fit the pieces together. He also feels a tad bit mortified about crying. “Bawling like a friggin baby,” he mutters to himself, not meaning Lucifer to hear, but he does anyway.

“There’s no shame in tears, Sammy. It’s a natural response to intense feelings or pain, not a measure of strength.”

“Fuck you!” Sam snaps. Anger back again. Confusion driving it on. Why had Lucifer stayed and taken care of him? If he did care about Sam, why had he harmed him? There are no signs that Lucifer is affected by alcohol or drugs. That he could have understood. The number of times he had gotten a thrashing from dad may not have been as many as Dean, but he had gotten knocked around more than once or twice. He could ‘take a beating like a Winchester’. Dry his tears if they came, cover bruises, walk without limping, even when each step shot fire through an injury, smile at strangers and answer any question about how he was doing with ‘Fine.’ Words were always the real killer and Dean was usually at the butt end of those too. He had never been hit when dad was sober, though. This doesn’t make sense. He’s missing something in this picture.

Lucifer chuckles at Sam’s switch to vehemence and nods to himself before turning to pick up the blanket and the sweater on the ground. “Speaking of which, you did very well when I grabbed you. You fought fiercely. Not that you stood much of a chance against me during the circumstances, but there’s always a chance and a lot of people are scared off by resistance. I’m proud of you.” He picks up the ice pack and hands it to Sam who applies it to the place on his side that hurts the most. 

Sam’s so friggin’ confused. His emotions are a jumble. Anger warring with the swell of pride the praise enticed. 

“Get in the car so we can go home,” Lucifer says while he loads the blanket in the trunk.

Sam’s in half a mind of telling him to go to hell and fuck off. But he has no idea where they are. Even if he followed the dirt track he might end up having to walk for hours on end with no provisions and an injured side. He’s not afraid to hitchhike, but even if someone stopped, it might get him from the ashes into the fire and he’s not fit for fight. At least Lucifer offers to take him home.

Sam trudges grumpily to the car, gets in and slams the door shut hard in an act of defiance. He speaks up the moment Lucifer gets into the driver's seat. “Why did you do this? Why?! I don’t get it.”

“I was following orders,” Lucifer answers looking tired.

“ _Orders_? Whose orders? It makes no sense. Why won’t you tell me anything? This is such friggin’ bullshit!”

“Trust me, it is safer for you not knowing. If I told you, you’d be in even greater danger than you already are and there’s nothing I can do about it. Stop asking.”

Sam gnashes his teeth in frustration and turns his head away, frowning. He’s moping, but he’s damned well entitled! Nothing makes sense and Lucifer is a dickhead. He adjusts the ice pack at his side, secretly grateful for it. The bruising will be a great deal smaller and heal faster due to it. But it wouldn’t have been there to start with if Lucifer hadn’t hurt him.

Lucifer doesn’t start the car, he just sits there watching Sam. Sam can’t tell what he’s thinking since he has his head turned away from the older man. Minutes drag by and Sam can’t keep himself from turning to look. Lucifer is looking at him with a serene expression under heavy lids. It makes Sam annoyed because Lucifer looks like he’s seeing something precious, something beautiful. It does not coincide with the injury at Sam’s side and Sam _likes_ Lucifer looking at him that way, which is what’s annoying. He shouldn’t like Lucifer’s attention. Not now, after this. Yet his mind provides him with memories of the trip to the aquarium, of patient teachings of Russian, of gentle fingers committing his skin to memory. And he aches for it, wants to get closer. On top of it all, he feels a pang of guilt at the deep scratch marks on Lucifer’s face. They must burn and sting like a bitch. He has no reason to feel guilty about it―quite the opposite―but he does.

“Tell me how things went with Brady,” Lucifer says and reaches out to touch his face.

Sam jerks back and glares when Lucifer reaches for him. “No! Screw you, asshole! You did this to me and now you expect me to share my life with you?! I know _nothing_ about you! It’s your time to share now!”

Lucifer retracts his hand with a frown and crosses his arms over his chest. Then he turns his head away, looking out the window. “What do you want me to tell you? You keep asking the same question and there’s a reason I won’t answer that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “So say something else! I dunno. Tell me something personal about you. Just, you know, _anything_. Something nobody else knows about you.”

Lucifer purses his lips, still frowning, not looking at Sam. He stays quiet for a long time. Sam lets out a deep breath and lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. He’s soo done with this mystery shit. But then, Lucifer speaks up.

“I had a dog when I grew up. I loved her more than any single member of my family.”

“He had a dog,” Sam mutters sarcastically to himself. A hard smack on his arm makes him jump. Rubbing his arm he looks up to find Lucifer scowling darkly at him.

“I’m obliging you. You want me to tell you this or not?”

Sam bitchfaces him. “Yeah yeah. Sorry. Go on.”

Lucifer looks out of the windshield, eyes focused somewhere else. His face is grim and he crosses his arms over his chest again. It takes him a moment before he starts speaking.

“I got her for protection on my tenth birthday. She was nine weeks old, a Shiloh shepherd.” He pauses, a finger drumming restlessly on his upper arm. His lips a hard line when he’s not talking. “We were not supposed to name our dogs. They were to be trained as weapons. Just means of protection, nothing more. We had to train them ourselves to ensure they’d be loyal only to us. In secret, I called her ‘baby’ because she was so sweet and loving. Did everything I asked of her.”

“Dean calls the Impala ‘Baby’,” Sam offers, not really knowing why. His anger abating somewhat. While confessing to owning a dog as a kid and loving it sounded like a very impersonal fact. But with this added information - maybe it isn’t. 

Lucifer snorts and darts an amused look at Sam but doesn’t comment. Instead, he looks at the steering wheel, uncrosses one of his arms and reaches out to scrape lightly at it with a nail. “She grew up big. Huge. Not just for a bitch, but for the breed in general. And the shilos are big. Ever seen one?” He raises an eyebrow in question and looks at Sam.

“They’re the ones that look like extra fluffy, large german shepherds, right? But more square built?”

Lucifer’s lips twitch into a little smile. “Yeah. That was her. Like a huge teddy bear. She’d go to sleep rolled to a ball by my feet on the bed but then end up stretched out at my side, hogging most of the bed and with it the comforter. Kind of amazing really how much space a dog can take up when they’re in a mind to.”

Lucifer falls silent and looks out the side window, facing away from Sam. His smile dissipates and his eyes move as if he is seeing some distant memory happen all over again. Whatever memory he is reliving it’s not a good one. There’s sadness on his face. Thinly veiled pain. Sam does not like to see it. Not that he should care, after what Lucifer did to him, but he does.

“What happened to her?”

Lucifer stays silent. Sam begins to think he didn’t hear the question. But then Lucifer starts talking again, reluctance to speak clear in his voice.

“When she was eight years old… I―. One day I refused to send her into a situation that could be dangerous to her… I disobeyed a direct order to spare her pain―” he swallows and starts scraping at some invisible spot on the steering wheel again. “They… um.” Lucifer closes his eyes and swallows again. “Because of that, they put her down.”

“ _What_?!” Sam can’t withhold his shock. His anger at Lucifer totally forgotten despite the pain in his side. “ _Why_?”

Lucifer’s voice goes devoid of all feelings. “She was a malfunctioning weapon and a distraction. A weapon you cannot use must be destroyed. More so if you feel the need to protect it. Attachment is a weakness and a distraction that could put me and my family in danger or be used against us.” 

It’s clear to Sam that those words are not Lucifer’s own. It must be about three years since she had died and Sam’s heart bleeds for Lucifer. He’d told Sam he loved her more than anything else, and they had killed her because of that. It doesn’t take much for Sam to imagine what it would feel like and it brings tears to his eyes. “Jesus, Lucifer. That’s _horrible_!”

Lucifer looks at him then. “The consequences of disobeying orders are far greater than the damage done when complying.” His face is impassive but his eyes hold great sadness.

Sam isn’t aware he moves, the ice pack sliding off. Not until he has lodged himself into Lucifer’s lap and thrown his arms around him in a close hug, hoping to convey his sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Lucifer is stiff at first, then his arms circle Sam carefully, mindful of his injured side. He cradles Sam’s head to his chest and Sam feels his chin and mouth resting against his hair. He hears how hard and fast Lucifer’s heart is beating in his chest. Sam relaxes into the hold. It’s fucked up how much he enjoys it. How safe he feels being held by the man who had been the one to harm him. How in these moments with Lucifer, he feels whole. 

Lucifer takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. His hand―the one not cradling Sam’s head―worms its way inside Sam’s shirt to the bare skin. The fingers caress his injured side like a healing prayer. Barely grazing the chilled skin, the fingers leave goosebumps in their wake. Sam ignores his body’s response. He tells himself it’s just hormones that sends shivers through his spine, that it means nothing. He knows Lucifer does not mean the touch to be sexual. That much Sam has discerned through all their previous interactions. So he pushes every trace of those thoughts that the touch evokes into the darkest recess of his brain and instead focuses on feeling every other aspect. 

It’s apparent that Lucifer knows exactly where and how Sam is hurt even if he cannot see the big bruises that have begun to form. His fingers gently caress every part of the injury. It coats it with a tingling sensation, lessens the pain somewhat, possibly more due to the affectionate way he touches than anything else. It hits Sam then how much he has missed this. To talk to the older man, to feel his reverent touch. How utterly broken is he not, when the only one to make him feel like he fully belongs, is a man who causes him harm?

“I never wish to hurt you, Sammy. I will. But I don’t want to.” Lucifer’s voice is gentle and sad.

Sam snorts derisively. “Screw you,” he says, but without heat. He snuggles closer. He can’t know if Lucifer is lying. If he truly was ordered to hurt Sam, or if it’s just some twisted gaslighting technique. Maybe there never was a dog. Maybe this is all just a ruse to mess with his mind and Lucifer gets off on it. Sam refuses to believe that. He wants so badly for Lucifer to think him special. For the man to value every moment with him as much as he does. Because if he does, no matter how fucked up this thing is, they’re in it together. They are both victims, not just Sam. “You were right about Brady,” Sam says to change the subject.

Lucifer hums. “Share with me.” He sounds relieved. 

Sam thinks it’s because Lucifer really does treasure this. So he does. He tells him everything that has happened with Brady since that day by the bleachers. He tells him of his new friends and the girls paying attention. How weird it is to be popular. He tells him about losing his virginity with a cheerleader. About how his second time having sex ended up to become a threesome with Brady and Ruby. Lucifer comments sometimes. Teasing him or offering advice. But remains mostly quiet, just listening with occasional hums.

Eventually the emotional and physical roller coaster of the day catches up with Sam. He feels bone tired. Cradled like a child in Lucifer’s arms, his eyelids begin to droop and his speech becomes slurred. Lucifer strokes him over his hair and begins to sing gently. It sounds like a sad lullaby. He sings in a Slavic language, but it isn’t Russian. Sam drifts to sleep to the melancholy tones of the song.

* * *

**LUCIFER’S MEMORY..**

* * *

Tears running down his face, the pain inside gut-wrenching. Michael cradled him closer to his chest, empathy clear in his eyes, also glossed over by tears, but his tears were for Lucifer. He was not supposed to comfort Lucifer for this. Not really. Lucifer needed to learn his lesson. But Michael didn’t care about that. He could never stand to see Lucifer in pain of any kind. And gods, the _pain_! Like a large gaping hole in his chest. She was gone. _She was gone!_ She was never going to come back and the manner of her death was his fault. All because he hadn’t been able to stand the thought of losing her. Instead of the quick death, she would have been dealt if he had obeyed, they had beaten her in front of his eyes. Then they had strung her up and… 

Lucifer wailed in agony at the memory, his body convulsed and cramped. His fingers dug into Michael, nails digging deep gouges that drew blood. Michael didn’t even flinch, just hugged Luci closer. He had lost three brothers during his lifetime this far. As much as he had loved them, the grief he had felt didn’t even come close to this.

It had taken four grown men to restrain Lucifer. In the end, he had not fought them any longer. All his attention had been on her. She had remained faithful to the end. Wrestled to his knees and held five meters away from her to bear witness, all he could do was offer her words of comfort. _‘It’ll soon be over, baby, just hold on. Just a little bit longer. I’m sorry, baby. I never wanted this for you. Soon you’ll be free. Stay brave, baby. Shh, hush now, baby.’_ She kept looking at him, big brown eyes asking ‘ _why?_ ’ but offering no blame. When he told her to hush she did. Withholding sounds of suffering until she couldn’t anymore. Until they strung her up and ripped the skin off her living body. She had screamed then. Oh gods! Her screams!

Another wail and his body convulsed in a seizure. The grief was physical, ran through his body like electrocuting bolts. Michael murmured comforting nonsense into his hair. “Shhh, shhh, мали брат. It’s over. It’s over now.” 

Only then they dumped her on the ground and let him go. He rushed to her side, but he couldn’t touch her without causing her more pain. The only fur left on her was barely covering half her head, the rest of her body just naked muscles covered in blood. His hands were shaking so badly and tears blurred his eyes. She wasn’t screaming anymore. Just whining quietly. He could no longer see due to crying so hard. He wanted to offer her comfort while she was dying but couldn’t get words past the lump in his throat. He had no weapon on him to end her misery with. He was utterly broken up inside. He didn’t notice her struggle to her feet on broken bones. He didn’t know she had moved until her warm tongue had licked the tears off his cheeks, offering comfort to _him_. Her tail wagging tentatively. Michael had broken the order not to interfere. A gunshot rang out and she crumpled to the ground, spared possibly 10 minutes of pure agony.

For almost 8 years she had been at his side. On his 10th birthday, they had given her to him―a 9 weeks old Shiloh shepherd―a bundle of fluff and joy. _Otac_ had told him to raise her, to train her as his protection, to gain her trust and loyalty. This was standard procedure for the sons of _Otac_. They were given a puppy to train. It was supposed to protect them, accompany them on missions. Sooner or later they all died in service of their masters, rarely living past the age of four. But not her. She was big, brave, and loyal. Above all―she was smart. She got herself out situations where the other dogs failed. However, the point of giving the boys a dog was to teach them to view their companion as property, nothing more, even when they had to nurture and care for them. Dogs die. Humans die. Unless they were closely related to you they should never be regarded as anything other than tools, props, playthings. Even if you did have to treat them as if they were more.

They were not allowed to name their puppies, only refer to them as ‘the dog’. Somehow he had failed that. He kept using terms of endearment for her until one day the word ‘baby’ was synonymous with her name. She had become an extension of himself. Often predicting what he needed or wanted from her before he had to give her commands. He loved her something fierce.

Her survival didn’t comply with the lesson they were supposed to learn. So _Otac_ had given him the order that she was to be sent into a field prepped with mines. The only objective with this order was that she was supposed to die. Lucifer had refused. By doing so he had broken the first rule. _‘Never put anything or anyone above the family._ ’ He had refused to follow an outright order, in benefit of sparing a ‘lesser being’ (a definition that included humans too) suffering and death. This was his punishment. It was twisted. How they were expected to love each other so strongly and unconditionally, but were expected to be heartless, cruel, and cold towards anyone else outside the inner circle of the _Porodica_. Yet somehow they managed. Most of the time. The rare cases when somebody failed, this was one of the consequences. The object of affection was targeted. If the offence was grave enough or happened more than once, even the offender might be targeted or put down. One of his brothers had been killed for this reason. For falling in love with a woman and putting her above the _Porodica_. But not before he had to witness what they did to her.

He could never bring himself to fully forgive _Otac_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are curious this is the lullaby Lucifer sings to Sam. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjEDMShYF2Q>. The English version with lyrics can be found here <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsLUMk3Zkoo>.
> 
> I chose the lullaby before I found the English version just because it was in the right language and sounded sad. I was surprised to find how well the lyrics fit with the context. The actual lullaby holds no importance to the plot itself. Just the fact that he sang and it was sad.
> 
> Many times it appears that Sam came out of his abusive childhood relatively sound and unscathed. In many ways he did compared to his brother. Especially if you look at him as the young adult he is in the present day. However, he is damaged too. And his teen years are far from balanced. At this point it's only been two years since John died. And mere months since he went from bullied to popular.
> 
> I know many will wonder why Sam didn't just tell Luci to go fuck himself, why he still sought approval and comfort from somebody he believes has hurt him. I can pile tons of psychology papers on this subject in your lap. For somebody who has grown up with abuse, or been in an abusive relationship, this behaviour makes sense. Don't judge Sam too harshly about it.
> 
> As for Luci, well... You'll see. ;) There's a Luci POV on this coming.
> 
> I'm working hard on the upcoming chapters. Hoping to get them done as soon as possible. They have priority because I don't like to leave you on such negative note.


	49. While you were sleeping...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is faced with a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Angst  
> \- Violence against minor (Not graphic)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  For those of you who skipped Lucifer's memory in the last chapter, here's a summary: Lucifer's dog was killed very cruelly in front of his eyes to teach him the lesson never to get attached to anyone who wasn't a family member - human or otherwise. Michael defied an order and shot the dog dead pre-maturely to end its suffering since he couldn't stand seeing the pain it caused Lucifer. He also broke the order not to comfort Lucifer in his grief for the same reasons. The death of Lucifer's dog was the beginning of Lucifer's fall out with _Otac_.
> 
> Non-graphic excerpt from the memory:  
> "Baby's survival didn’t comply with the lesson they were supposed to learn. So Otac had given him the order that she was to be sent into a field prepped with mines. The only objective with this order was that she was supposed to die. Lucifer had refused. By doing so he had broken the first rule. ‘Never put anything or anyone above the family.’ He had refused to follow an outright order, in benefit of sparing a ‘lesser being’ (a definition that included humans too) suffering and death. This was his punishment. It's twisted. How they are expected to love each other so strongly and unconditionally, but were expected to be heartless, cruel, and cold towards anyone else outside the inner circle of the Porodica. Yet somehow they managed. Most of the time. The rare cases when somebody failed, this was one of the consequences. The object of affection was targeted. If the offence was grave enough or happened more than once, even the offender might be targeted or put down. One of his brothers, Leo, had been killed for this reason. For falling in love with a woman and putting her above the Porodica. But not before he had to witness what they did to her."

* * *

**July the 12th, 2007**

* * *

Mikey has been edgy since the end of the season. Bored senseless and acting on his best behaviour. It was just a matter of time before he needed an outlet. Ordinary sex or sparring down in the gym isn’t gratifying enough. They don’t take on many jobs for the _Porodica_. Mostly because the areas around twin towns doesn’t need the hand of a брат to get involved. The twin towns themselves are free from _Porodica_ activity. Too small of a market for drugs, illegal firearms, and prostitution to bother with. The drugs that can be found here are either homegrown, from the pharmacy, or bought in the nearest city. Prostitution is a thing housewives handle from home through the internet, or the occasional teen offer in a parking lot. As far as Luci and Mikey have found out there isn’t even an active pimp in either of the towns. 

As for firearms? They are plentiful here. The amount of the population that hunt for a pastime is astounding in Luci’s eyes. It comes with living smack dab in the middle of vast woodlands, he supposes. However, the market for _illegal_ firearms is next to non-existent. It’s perfect. A little haven away from everything. The _Porodica_ is present in every one of the surrounding cities, their activities mostly handled by grunts that aren’t even aware of who they are working for, or even that the _Porodica_ exists. That’s just as well, as long as the money keeps coming in. Everything works in layers. Ordinary street thugs pushing drugs often have no clue who supplies their supplier’s supplier. Not until someone gets greedy or tries to hustle the _Porodica_ are they made aware who they really are dealing with.

While during their training a брат has to do all kinds of grunt work to understand each level in their organization, as an adult it’s not required of them. They just let other people carry out their orders. Only special occasions require the sons of _Otac_ to interfere. Mikey and Luci are in a kind of deadlock. Luci doesn’t want to do any jobs at all for his family business, but will do some anyway for Mikey’s sake. Mikey wants to do more grunt work just for the fun of it but refrains most of the time something is available for Luci’s sake.

It’s nice enough. Luci’s satisfied. Therefore he ignores Mikey’s growing restlessness. He ignores that he got more violent during their sparring sessions and picked up more girls. He should have known better. He’s too happy to be more or less out of the business―enjoying the calm before _Otac_ will grow impatient and demand him to step up to his inherited responsibilities―to take heed. It’s easy to forget that power, causing pain and fear, is an addiction for Mikey, not an obligation to the family. If he had just kept that in mind, he could have insisted they’d do more odd jobs or presented Mikey with _suitable_ playthings.

Luci gets out of the driver's seat of the van and walks up to Mikey who stands at the edge of the beach, keeping an eye on his target from a distance. “Alright, Mikey. I got it. Business or pleasure?”

Mikey flashes him a bright smile. “Pleasure this time. I’ve found the perfect little plaything. Beautiful, young, naϊve. It’ll be double the satisfaction during the circumstances. I’ll take my time with this one I think. Begin messing with his head a little, release him into the wild afterwards. Let him stew and pick him up again. See how long he will last before he’s broken. Look, over there.” Mikey points at a teenager squatting in the shallows, picking at something under water.

Luci fills up with ice-cold dread when he lays eyes on the boy. No longer feeling the punishing heat, blood draining from his face. He schools himself into an impassive expression, hoping he manages to hide his mounting panic.

In hindsight, he should have _known_ , when Mikey told him to get the van. Well, he did know, but he thinks he should instinctively have known _whom_ Mikey had singled out. But by then it was already too late.

”Sam Winchester?”

Mikey grins. “Yup! None other. It’ll be a good way to get back at his insolent brother for declining my offer too.”

”You didn’t even want him on the team,” Lucifer states, having trouble keeping his voice steady.

”That’s not really the point, Luci, and you know it.” Mike waves his hand dismissively. And it isn’t. Mikey has always had a thing for breaking the beautiful and innocent ones. Both the Winchesters stand out in a crowd and might as well have been singled out, even if he’d never heard of them.

Lucifer’s thoughts are racing yet he can’t come up with a solution. If he refuses to help out and tries to stop Mikey, it would be a dead giveaway about being emotionally involved since he’s never done so before, apart from when he refused to let baby be killed. He knows how much Mikey worries about him having ‘a relapse’. They had talked about it in the months after her death, while he’d been grieving. Mikey agrees 100% with the first rule, not to put anybody or anything above the family. Despite this he’d been a rock. Supporting Lucifer and coaxing him back into shape. He doesn't understand how one could get so attached to a dog, but he fears that if Lucifer once again strays off the right path - that _Otac_ will lose patience and that Lucifer will meet the same fate as their brother Leo had, for falling in love with a woman. If Michael suspects Lucifer of getting attached to Sammy he would refrain from making the boy his plaything. He would however put a swift end to Sam’s life, to ensure _Otac_ never found out about Lucifer’s ‘mistake’.

He couldn’t claim he wants Sammy for himself without raising suspicions. While he doesn’t balk to volunteer for clean execution jobs, he has never ever had any interest in taking playthings. So claiming he wants one now, would be such a breach of habitual behaviour that Michael would take note at once, circling back to the same outcome as the first option would yield.

”Mikey, it’s dumb to take a local plaything. It will just get us in trouble. Leave the boy alone and let’s go into the city and choose someone else that doesn’t belong on our home turf. Or head for the airport and pick up a tourist.”

Michael scoffs. “What trouble? We have the police force under our thumb. I don’t want anyone else, I want _him_. Besides, he’s a nobody and an orphan. Who’s going to care?” Mikey suddenly frowns and looks at Luci. “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

”I’m fine. You know I wanted Angel Falls to be a sanctuary away from it all. Picking your toys locally messes that up.” His heart is pounding hard in his chest. His mouth is dry. He cares jack shit about whether or not Michael takes locals for his enjoyment, as long as he stays away from the Winchesters. Away from _his_ Sammy. But Mikey knows him too well, can read him better than anyone else. Something he proves right now.

Michael’s face smooths out from annoyance to concern and he steps closer. “Are you sure that’s what this is about, мали брат? It sounds like a load of bullshit to me.” Mikey strokes his cheek lovingly, locking him down with compassionate worried eyes. “You’re not growing soft, are you?”

Luci rolls his eyes and swats Michael’s hand away before it wanders to check his pulse. “No, I’m not. God, you’re so spoiled! So how do you want to do this thing?”

And with that the possibility of averting Sam’s fate is gone. He’s stuck in a Catch 22. If he shows that he cared - Sam will die. If he doesn’t show it - Sam will get hurt. There are loads of other options going through his mind right now. Just grab Sam and make a run for it? Yes, because _that_ would work so well. Then there won’t be just Mikey to deal with, but the whole family and their resources. Fake Sammy’s death and send him somewhere safe? Sammy wouldn’t comply without Dean and Luci would bet his life Dean would refuse to be run out of his own life by some ominous threat from a mob family he’s never heard of. The only option left is damage control.

”I was thinking, take him up to the cabin, rough him up a bit, then dr―” A small toddler, somewhere between one and two years old, comes running by them on chubby legs. Not really having the hang on the whole running business, the toddler trips and falls flat on its face just a pace away from them. Michael clicks into big brother-mode without missing a beat and lifts the toddler to its legs at first sign of quivering lips and watering eyes. His voice goes all soft and cooing. “Hey there, little buddy. Did you hurt yourself? Here, let me help you.” He brushes the dirt from knees and hands, blows gently on the scrapes and places a kiss in the palm of scraped hands. The toddler reaches out its arms to him and he scoops it up. Luci can’t discern if it’s a boy or a girl. For a brief moment Luci entertains the thought of just bringing the toddler home with them. _That_ would be a distraction that would derail Michael totally from his plans. Babies and small children are kryptonite to Michael. Oh he _could_ switch it off outwardly when needed. _Otac_ has ordered him to murder kids several times just to make sure of it, and Mikey hadn’t even batted an eyelash in hesitation. But he loves children above all else. It doesn’t take long before he’s gotten the child to giggle in delight at soft words and funny faces. Mikey spares a glare at the woman standing 20 meters away with her back facing them. She’s talking on her phone and smoking, an empty stroller at her side. Totally oblivious where her baby is. By the flicker in Michael’s eyes, there’s a 50/50 chance this child will end up growing up without a mother.

”You wanna go to mummy, little ‘un?” Mikey asks the child. The toddler responds by spouting a bunch of gibberish while waving its arms enthusiastically as if telling a very compelling story that makes no sense to anyone except the toddler, and Mikey apparently, who acts very impressed. “Really?! Then what happened?” The child goes on go-go-ga-ga-ba-be-ba-ing its tale and erupts in laughter afterwards as Mikey makes his way to the mother. But Luci is no longer paying attention to them. He keeps his eyes on Sam, currently skipping stones on the water. He feels very powerless at the moment and he doesn’t like it.

Mikey comes back scowling. “Fucking mudmonkey whore! She hadn’t even noticed the little chipmunk was gone. _Anything_ could have happened during that time! And so close to the water? Her baby could’ve drowned!”

Luci makes a dismissive gesture. “Don’t care. We we’re talking about Winchester…?”

Michael, used to Lucifer’s impatience with anything other than the matter at hand, snaps out of it. “Oh, yes, right. I want you to snatch him and take him to the cabin. Make sure he doesn’t know where he’s taken. There I figured I’d rough him up a bit. Nothing too bad. Just a little bruising.” Mikey falls silent as someone comes close enough to overhear. He nods and smiles politely at the passing man then waits until he’s out of earshot before he continues. “After that, we’ll dump him somewhere in the woods. If he makes it back we’ll pick him up again in a month or so. Give him some time to jump at shadows and then when he starts feeling safe again - _Bam!_ ”

”So you want him to be one of your freerangers?” Luci asks. That might be a good thing under the circumstances. It gives him time to figure out how to keep Sam relatively safe and opens for an opportunity to keep Mikey distracted.

Mikey nods. “Yes. Mess with his mind. Make him crack slowly.”

”In that case, I suggest we keep him sedated until we’ve ditched him in the woods. He’ll know he was taken but not by whom or why. It’ll scare the shit out of him when he wakes up.”

Mikey purses his lips and thinks it over. “I like the way you think. It’s not as fun as hearing him scream, but it has its merits. A shame we can’t be there to see him when he wakes up.” Mikey grins. “Alright. I’ll take the car up to the cabin. Text me once you have him.”

Luci agrees and gives Michael a wave of good bye. Sam must have made an impression on him too if he wants to keep him as a freeranger. Those are playthings Mikey considers special for one reason or another. He’ll revisit them from time to time, amping up the terror, never allowing them to feel safe but compared to other toys, the violence is ‘moderate’. At least in the beginning. It’s a small comfort. It doesn’t stop his gut from twisting, though. A small part of him wishes he could just conform to the wishes of _Otac_. To brush off the loss of baby and not give a crap about a mudmonkey like Sam. But he can’t. He doesn’t see a mudmonkey when he looks at Sammy. He sees a boy king. Someone to be revered and cherished. He wants to give him everything. To raise him to the power somebody with that inner light deserves.

It had gone too far the day he laid eyes on the boy, that day on the ice. Mikey isn’t the only danger either. Mikey keeps in touch with the whole family. He uses henchmen to keep tabs on his freerangers when he ‘released them back into the wild’ so they can be roped back in again at any given moment. That means Luci has to be ten times more careful if he wants to continue watching and interacting with the boy. Creeping behind Michael’s back is risky. It had been risky before when it was an indulgence, now it would be a necessity. He can’t think about it right now, though. Now he has to make a pick up.

* * *

He puts Sam down gently in the back of the van, using a rolled up sweater as a pillow, and quickly closes the back doors. He then checks Sam over for injuries. Thankfully there are none. His cheek stings and burns like a bitch and he feels blood trickle from the claw marks Sam had managed to give him. It fills him with pride over the boy. He’d struggled fiercely even if it was over before it began really. And comparing this reaction to how he had struggled _not_ to fight when Luci had him in a suffocating hold in the car outside the aquarium, Luci is very pleased with Sam’s reaction.

Luci grabs the first aid kit in the van and proceeds to clean the wounds on his face. The antiseptic burns like fire but he doesn’t care. He should be sending a text to Mikey straight away, but one look at Sam stops him. He looks so peaceful where he lies. Luci leans against the wall by Sam’s head and sinks down with a heavy exhale. That feeling of being powerless overwhelms him. It’s not like he and his brothers haven’t all been through similar situations as Sam is in right now. But that is part of the training they had received. From an early age alongside fingerpaint, hugs and sing-song―they had been _trained_ to cope with pain, stress, and danger. Chances were Sam doesn’t have that training.

Sam’s hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat, the hair by the nape of the neck wet and curling. Lucifer strokes some hair away from Sam’s closed eyes. “I’m so sorry about this, Sammy. I really am,” he says to the unconscious boy. Fat lot of good it does either of them.

Sam’s skin is warm. Too warm. He is tanned but still red from over-exposure to the sun and Luci worries. He puts his hand inside Sam’s T-shirt where his skin hasn’t been exposed to the sun. He is soaked in sweat, no wonder there, but he is alarmingly hot there too. “Fuck,” Luci swears. The van is moderately cool since the air conditioner had been running until very recently when Luci cut the engine. But he doesn’t really have anything to cool Sam down with here. He tears down the drape that is the only divider between the front seat and the back, hung there to prevent curious passersby from seeing inside. Then he scrambles to the front seat and takes a couple of water bottles from the footwell of the passenger seat. He goes into the back of the van again and tears the drape into strips, soaks them in water and places them strategically on Sam. On top of his head, around his neck, rolls them into balls in his armpits. Inside of his shorts in the groin area and some other places with pulse points. The water isn’t ice cold or anything but it’s still cool and will help get his temperature down a notch. He wants to wake Sam up to make him drink but he can’t yet.

”Why are you not taking care of yourself in this heat, Sammy?” he mutters. Worrying about heat stroke is not an addition he needs at the moment. He shoots a text to Mikey saying _‘Package acquired’_ and climbs up front to start the car. As soon as the engine is running he cranks the temperature down as cold as it will go and drives off. The sooner they get this show on the road, the sooner it will be over. He ignores the nausea and the squeeze around his chest that this causes.

* * *

When he cuts the engine and climbs back, Sam stirs with a groan and blinks blearily. Luci doesn’t give him a chance to orient himself. He quickly puts him to sleep again using chloroform and removes the pieces of torn drape. When he carries Sam inside the cabin he switches to autopilot. Places a wall between his emotions and the task at hand. He zones out Michael when he’s speaking, the efficient mask firmly in place. Sam is put down on one of the beds while Mikey figures out how he wants to hurt Sam. Nothing that will damage his intestines or break bones, nothing that will leave permanent marks but still will take time to heal. That will be easily covered with clothes even in this weather and will hurt him in a way that still makes him able to move somewhat natural depending on his pain resistance. Mikey decides to only go one-sided and Luci holds Sam’s arm out of the way so it won’t be bruised. He uses some kind of paddle and Luci takes very close note of where each blow lands. The locked away part of him winces with every blow, but right now it doesn’t touch his face or affects his actions. He’s squatting by Sam’s face and makes sure Sam stays unconscious through it all. Michael laments not being able to hear Sam scream, but for now the psychological horror this will cause is enough. Mikey can be very patient if he chooses.

Once Mikey is done they carry Sam into the forest. Luci chooses one of the densest parts full of pine and spruce where the heat isn’t as horrid. As soon as they’ve dumped Sam the clock is ticking. Mikey follows Luci and the van with his car, back to the garrison. Once there, Luci chases Michael away with orders to get laid. He tends to get very sexually aroused by these games and it makes Luci uncomfortable. Especially since Michael becomes very affectionate in the wrong way then. Not that Mikey would try to step over _that_ particular line, but it’s still not something Luci wants to deal with. Michael knows how Luci feels about him when he has the ‘blood fever’ so he complies without argument.

As soon as Mikey is out of the way, Luci hurries to pack what he needs to take care of Sam, hops into his car, and speeds back to where they dumped the teenager.

* * *

Sam is still not awake when Luci returns. It’s very worrisome. He puts down the cool box and the bag and checks his temperature. The fact that he’s burning up and has stopped sweating even more worrisome. While his injuries won’t kill him, heatstroke and dehydration might. He tries slapping Sam to get him to wake, but the boy doesn’t stir. Luci gets to work trying to get his temperature down and minimize the bruising of his injuries. Once Sam is swathed in ice packs, Luci dribbles tiny amounts of water into his mouth. Careful not to overwhelm and choke him. Sam keeps swallowing reflexively. Luci has a bottle with a mix of water and minerals that he needs Sam to drink but he’s got to be awake for that. It takes too long and Luci’s insides are twisted with fear but then finally, _finally_ the boy stirs.

Relief is palpable when Sam makes a grimace and whimpers. “Oh good. You’re awake. I was beginning to seriously worry about heat stroke and dehydration.” Sam doesn’t answer so he takes his temperature. “Your temperature is down to normal again,” he says and removes the ice packs not covering Sam’s injuries. “Wouldn’t want you to get hypothermia on the hottest day of the summer this far,” he jokes. He feels like crying, swallowing around a lump in his throat and feeling much younger than he is. He wishes he could turn to one of his big brothers for help getting out of this situation. Mikey or Matt would always help him solve tricky problems, but now they’re part of it, and it twists his gut.

Sam hasn’t opened his eyes but he keeps making little noises of suffering. Luci takes the washcloth off his forehead and soaks it with cool water. Sam makes a contented noise when he puts it back and Luci smiles in spite of himself. He may not be out of the woods yet―no pun intended―but at least he is responding to his surroundings.

“Sammy, you need to drink. The water I’ve been dripping into your mouth isn’t enough but I didn’t want you to choke.” Sam licks his lips and makes a small sound and Luci takes that as a sign he’s heard. The water he gives Sam is prepped with salt, some sugar and other minerals to make up for what he has lost when sweating. He drinks a lot. It doesn’t take long for his body to start perspiring again.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain. It would be preferable if you would swallow the pills on your own behalf. If not, don’t think I will hesitate to force you.”

Sam opens his eyes and blinks in confusion, totally out of it. He looks at Lucifer’s worried face without recognition for a while, uttering a questioning “Hmfh?” Then he seems to connect the dots and tries to sit up. He winces and groans, making a grimace of pain. Luci helps support him to a sitting position. Sam opens his mouth and lets Luci put the pills directly into his mouth, then greedily swallows it down with the rest of the water mixture. Luci is satisfied he’s gotten about a litre of fluid in him as he lowers Sam back down. “Good. I’m going to carry you closer to the car now so we can get you home. You’ll need to drink a lot and rest for at least 24 hours. Eat fruit and…” Lucifer trails off when he notices that Sam has clocked out again.

Luci sighs mournfully and gets his arms under Sam’s shoulders and thighs, preparing to lift him. Instead, he ends up cradling him to his chest, leaning his forehead against Sam’s, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry this happens to you, Sammy. You’re too good for this. You deserve so much better. I wish…” He swallows against the lump in his throat again. Wishes change _nothing_. He takes a moment to gather himself before he carries Sam to the clearing where he parked his car. He puts him down gently and leaves him to get the other stuff. Once it’s retrieved, he arranges a sweater as a pillow for Sam and puts a blanket over him to get some more padding between the ice packs on his injuries and the skin to prevent him getting frost damage.

When he’s loading the cool box and bag into the trunk he hears Sam stir. “What happened to me?” 

Lucifer can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I told you to keep the hell away from Michael and you didn’t listen. _That’s_ what happened,” he says and slams the trunk shut harder than necessary. He turns around. Sam’s standing up, looking a bit wobbly but better than expected. Sam’s eyes widen in shock when they fall on the scratch marks he left on Luci’s face.

Sam raises his hand and stares for a beat at the hand he used to defend himself with. Realisation dawns and his face twists into a mask of anger. He glares at Luci. “So what?! You decided to give me a thrashing for it? For talking to someone else than you?” His voice is as bitter and vitriolic as his expression.

That is _soo_ far from the truth, such an unfair accusation and paired with how powerless Luci feels in this situation, it makes anger flare like a furnace in his chest. He feels like backhanding Sam across the face for it. He opens his mouth to yell at Sam about how wrong he is. But doing so would lead to the need to explain how things really are and if Sam knew, he might talk. And it took one word in the wrong ear for the wrong people to take interest. It doesn’t even have to be someone obvious. A whispered secret about the _Porodica_ to a trusted friend who told a parent or a sibling who told someone else and the matter might reach some mid-level henchman who decided to pay homage to the organisation to gain favour by shutting Sammy up forever, not even knowing he’s singled out as ‘property’ of a брат. And considering that the last thing Sam knew he was being abducted and then Luci stands there displaying injuries he inflicted in self defence… Lucifer snaps his mouth shut. He wants to scream in frustration. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep until this whole things goes away. He feels bone weary. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the trunk, ankles crossed in front of him. He looks away from Sam, not wanting to see the accusation in his eyes. “I suppose that is the logical assumption to make during the circumstances. At least you’re not dead.”

It’s not like the accusation is totally untrue either. If Luci hadn’t known Sam, he would just have ditched him in the woods not caring jack shit if perished or not, as long as Mikey was happy he would have been too. He didn’t operate with a guilty conscience or compassion towards strangers. He might not share Michael’s sadistic urges unless he thought himself justified, but he’s a product of how he’s been reared just as any of his brothers.

“Yeah right. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” Sam says, voice dripping with sarcasm and scorn.

“That’s a load of bullshit, Sammy,” Lucifer snaps and looks back at Sam. “Trauma that doesn’t kill you does _not_ make you stronger. It erodes your happiness, your ability to trust, your self-confidence and willingness to love. It makes you jaded and prone to addiction to cope with your experiences. It makes you devalue either yourself or others. It makes you self-destructive and likely to hurt the people you love. It shapes you into a frightened or dangerous shell of a being.” He has seen enough of that during his relatively short life to know that trauma broke people. Hell, he’s _caused_ enough of the trauma himself. And that’s what Mikey wants to do with Sam. Make him crumble from the inside out.

“Then why’d you do this!?” Sam demands angrily, but his voice quivers slightly. Lucifer sees how hard Sam fights to keep himself angry. How an expression of pain that isn’t caused by his injury creeps onto his face and into his posture. How that inner light of his _flickers._

And no! He doesn’t need that. Doesn’t want that light to ever die out. He wants nothing to do with anything that hurts his precious Sammy like that! If they had never met, Luci would not have had the power to hurt him on a personal level, to begin with. It would have been better if Luci had just been a faceless bad guy Sam was free to hate without needing to feel betrayed. Better if they hadn’t gravitated to each other like moths to a flame. Lucifer hisses in frustration through gritted teeth. Then he gestures between the two of them. “This was a mistake. You and I should never have happened.”

Sam’s whole posture and face crumbles in front of his eyes. Heartbreak pouring out of every cell. “Don’t you say that! Don’t say that to me! Not _you_! Bad enough that dad used to call me a mistake when he was drunk. Say it would’ve been better if I was never born. I don’t want to hear it from you too!” He squeezes his eyes shut. Body heaving with sobs and tears streaming.

And Sam is interpreting it all wrong. Even the part about John Winchester’s sentiment. Luci knows that because he’s done his research. He has read John’s paperwork from the army, from doctors, and from the psychologist John went to a couple of time after his wife died. He had told the psychologist he loved his sons more than anything. He knew he ended up hurting his family over and over and he had no control over it. He and his wife knew he was damaged before Sam was born and John had expressed regrets about bringing another child to the world knowing how unstable his mental health was and the impact that would bring, but at the time they had felt so blessed and happy about having another child. Sam and Dean were the only reason John clung to life at all, so Sam got it all wrong.

Luci strides up to Sam and crowds in close. He cups his wet cheeks in a firm grip and tilts his head up. ”Look at me,” Lucifer demands and Sam unwillingly meets Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer hopes his gaze conveys how much he means what he’s about to say. “Sammy _-my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester, you listen to me very carefully right now, okay? You. Are. _Not_. A mistake. You are precious and shine with such inner light you make all others seem dull in comparison. Me, letting myself care about you, was a mistake because it puts you in danger. But _you_ are not a mistake.” He holds Sam’s gaze a while longer, until the heartbreak fades to confusion. Then he steps away, pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to Sam.

Sam blows his nose and mutters “Bawling like a friggin baby,” to himself, cheeks colouring redder than they already were by the sun.

“There’s no shame in tears, Sammy. It’s a natural response to intense feelings or pain, not a measure of strength.”

“Fuck you!” Sam snaps angrily and Luci chuckles.

That’s more like it. Defiance and anger is more fitting. “Speaking of which,” he says as he stoops to pick up the blanket, sweater, and ice pack. “You did very well when I grabbed you. You fought fiercely. Not that you stood much of a chance against me during the circumstances, but there’s always a chance and a lot of people are scared off by resistance. I’m proud of you.” He hands the ice pack to Sam who applies it to the place on his side that hurts the most. “Get in the car so we can go home,” Lucifer says while he loads the blanket in the trunk.

Sam radiates grumpy teen vibes as he goes to sit in the car and slams the door shut so hard Luci has to chuckle. Yes, this is much better. Justified anger at being treated wrongly. At least that doesn’t make his inner light flicker.

As soon as Luci gets into the car Sam starts talking. His frustration is clear. “Why did you do this? Why?! I don’t get it.”

Of course he doesn’t get it. Lucifer _didn’t_ do it after all. “I was following orders,” Lucifer answers feeling tired again.

“ _Orders_? Whose orders? It makes no sense. Why won’t you tell me anything? This is such friggin’ bullshit!”

“Trust me, it is safer for you not knowing. If I told you you’d be in even greater danger than you already are and there’s nothing I can do about it. Stop asking.”

Sam makes a frustrated noise and turns his head away, moping grumpily. It’s endearing to Luci. Sam’s showing a great deal of resilience and ability to adapt to fucked up situations. And he isn’t afraid of Luci either right now, just pissed. He has seen Sam be afraid of him a couple of occasions and one would think being abducted on an open street and wake up bruised and beaten would warrant some residual fear at least. But _no_. Instead, he’s doing a stink-eyed pout like a 3-year old who’s been told he can’t have dessert if he doesn’t finish his Brussel sprouts first.

And he’s beautiful too. He has the kind of looks that could pull off both innocently cute and cruel bad boy if he wanted to. Lucifer thinks he will be astounding to look at as an adult. And his eyes are so special. It’s like when he was created God couldn’t make up his mind about what colour they should be. Their colour shifts from brown to hazel, green, amber, and borderline blue sometimes depending on his mood and the lighting. He’s so pure, Lucifer can’t explain it but it’s like he’s made to be adored, revered. Sometimes he feels like Sam was born with the sole purpose of housing Lucifer’s soul. And anytime they touch he feels stronger, more hopeful, not so jaded, content, it’s a homecoming of a sorts. It’s almost religious but in a mellow sort of way. It’s also totally ridiculous, of course, but Luci doesn’t care.

Sam turns to look at him, annoyance warring with curiosity on his face. “Tell me how things went with Brady,” Lucifer says and reaches out to touch his face.

Sam jerks back and glares when Lucifer reaches for him. “No! Screw you, asshole! You did this to me and now you expect me to share my life with you?! I know _nothing_ about you! It’s your time to share now!”

Lucifer retracts his hand with a frown and crosses his arms over his chest. Then he turns his head away, looking out the window. “What do you want me to tell you? You keep asking the same question and there’s a reason I won’t answer that.”

“So say something else! I dunno. Tell me something personal about you. Just, you know, _anything_. Something nobody else knows about you.”

Lucifer purses his lips, still frowning, not looking at Sam. Sam’s right. It would be fair to tell him something personal, something no one else knows. There’s one memory that slams into his chest as soon as Sam asks. Maybe because of the current parallels. The last time he felt this powerless. The last time he had cared deeply for someone outside of the family. His baby who he loved more than anything. Not even Mikey knew to what extent she and Luci had bonded. The memory brings so much pain and is so very private. 

“I had a dog when I grew up. I loved her more than any single member of my family.”

“He had a dog,” Sam muttered sarcastically. Luci gets pissed off and smacks him hard on the arm, scowling darkly at him.

“I’m obliging you. You want me to tell you this or not?”

Sam bitchfaces him and rubs his arm. “Yeah yeah. Sorry. Go on.”

Lucifer looks out of the windshield, eyes focused on the moment three years ago when he lost his faith in the _Porodica_ and _Otac_. His face is grim and he crosses his arms over his chest again. It takes him a moment before he starts speaking again. He tells Sam about his dog baby.

“Dean calls the Impala ‘Baby’,” Sam offers, not sounding so angry anymore.

Lucifer snorts and darts an amused look at Sam. It’s an interesting fact. He’s seen how well cared the for the car is. The analytical part of his brain begs him to dwell on that nugget of information instead of going into these painful memories but he stays on track and looks at the steering wheel. He uncrosses one of his arms and reaches out to scrape lightly at it with a nail. Then he continues his story. He is pleasantly surprised that Sam knows what a Shiloh shepherd is. It’s not a common breed. He falls silent and looks out of the side window when it’s time to tell Sam about her demise.

“What happened to her?”

Even after all this time, it’s hard to get the words out. The lump forms in his throat and his stomach churns. It takes him a moment to gather strength to speak. 

“When she was eight years old… I―. One day I refused to send her into a situation that could be dangerous for her… I disobeyed a direct order to spare her pain―,” he has to stop to swallows around the constricting lump that threatens to choke him. He starts scraping at some invisible spot on the steering wheel again to distract himself. “They… um.” He closes his eyes to prevent tears from falling and swallows that insistent lump again. Not that there’s any shame in tears. He wasn’t just saying that for Sam’s benefit earlier. But he's cried so many tears for her already. “Because of that, they put her down.”

“ _What_?!” Sam sounds shocked and horrified. “ _Why_?”

Lucifer’s voice goes devoid of all feelings as he quotes _Otac’s_ lecture. “She was a malfunctioning weapon and a distraction. A weapon you cannot use must be destroyed. More so if you feel the need to protect it. Attachment is a weakness and a distraction that could put me and my family in danger or be used against us.” 

“Jesus, Lucifer. That’s _horrible_!”

Sam sounds shaken so Lucifer looks at him. Sam’s eyes are moist and full of empathy. “The consequences of disobeying orders are far greater than the damage done when complying.” Luci keeps his face is impassive, but he doubts he can hide his heartbreak from the human puppy eyes meeting his gaze.

Sam suddenly moves, lodging himself sideways into Lucifer’s lap and throws his arms around him in a tight, honest to God, hug. “I’m sorry.”

Lucifer is unprepared and the parallels of Sam offering comfort despite believing Luci hurt him and baby licking his tears to comfort him while she was dying, are overwhelming. He tenses up and his heart leaps into overdrive. But it feels so good to be comforted by someone who obviously won’t dismiss his sorrow with _’It was just a dog._ ’. He isn’t deserving of Sam’s affection at this moment considering how today turned out. But he’s selfish enough not to reject it, so he relaxes and circles his arms around Sam carefully, mindful of his injured side. He cradles Sam’s head to his chest and rests his chin and mouth against his hair, closing his eyes. 

Lucifer takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. They’re doomed, the two of them. He could walk away from this with nothing more than another heartbreak. But Sam cannot, not now when Mikey has singled him out. And this is when Luci knows he won’t either, thus they’re both doomed, it’s just a matter of time.

He worms his hand―the one not cradling Sam’s head―inside Sam’s shirt to the bare skin. He caresses the injured side softly, a silent plea for forgiveness. The skin is cold from the ice packs that had covered it and he feels goosebumps spring up in the wake of his fingers. He feels Sam’s pulse speed up with the hand cradling his head where his fingers touch the neck behind the jaw. A shiver runs through Sam, but Sam does not acknowledge any of it, so Luci keeps worshipping the bruised skin with his fingers, pretending he can heal with his touch and memorises the sensation. 

He knows from experience this will not be the last time he’ll have to help Mikey harm Sam. Until he can figure out a way out for them that is. If Luci refuses to help Mikey without figuring out a way to stop him, then he’ll just use goons in Luci’s place instead and there’s no way Luci’s going to allow filthy mudmonkeys touch a hair on his precious boyking. Besides, as long as he is near he can do damage control. “I never wish to hurt you, Sammy. I will. But I don’t want to,” he says softly, trying to hide how much he mourns right now.

Sam snorts derisively. “Screw you,” he says halfheartedly and snuggles closer. After a beat, Sam speaks up. “You were right about Brady.”

Lucifer hums. “Share with me.” He relaxes, grateful for Sam’s peace laurel. Sam starts telling him what has happened since the last time they were together. A lot of it Lucifer already knows. He’s been keeping track, either on his own or by proxy. But some things you can only know if you had been there. He feels a bit smug when Sam tells him about Brady and the friendship they had developed. Sam tells him he had taken Luci’s advice about how to handle the other boy. How freaked out he is about pretending to be much more confident than he feels, how he feels like a jerk sometimes when he acts dismissive and cocky but is thrilled when it works. He tells Luci about how overwhelming it is sometimes, to go from being bullied to popular basically overnight. How puzzled he gets by girls trying to chat _him_ up. Luci knows he’s getting full disclosure when Sam tells him about the threesome and how it came to be, including what he felt about it emotionally. All the while Luci’s fingers maps out the bare skin under Sammy’s shirt reverently. If Sam notices that he strays from the injury onto unblemished skin, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

They talk for a long time. Lucifer doesn’t want the moment to end. But in the end Sam starts nodding off. When Luci notices, melancholy overtakes him and he sings a Croatian lullaby his brother Leo sang to him when he was little. It’s sad and he wonders if Leo knew already then that he would end up dying for love.

With Sammy asleep in his arms, he is in no hurry to go home. He’s a couple of months away from his 21st birthday and for once he feels as young as he is. Tonight, all his grand plans of taking a little backwater team to glory fades in the shadow of the despair of being denied free will of his own. He is a wolf on a leash. A longer leash than most of his siblings―but still―a leash. And he sees no way of breaking out of it and gaining freedom.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep having to remind myself how young they all are really when I write the flashbacks. It's a bit difficult to remember to add youthful shine when writing their POV. They are bound to go through a lot of change during the years up to present day. I sincerely hope that the younger versions of their POV come across as different from today's versions. Also that they still remain somewhat like themselves. 
> 
> Please comment. I want to know everything about what you think! What you like, why you like it, what you didn't like and so on and so forth. Feel like pointing out grammatical errors? Go ahead! I have thick skin and this is very much a learning experience for me. That goes for any chapter, not just this one btw. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://coplins.tumblr.com/) if you wish to discuss spoilers or unrelated topics. :)


	50. Angel with a Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is not a master shot. Sam hovers. Cas and Dean is a married couple. Sam gets nervous. Dean and Lucifer bickers. Possibly, nobody is killed in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  -Violence against minor
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  The gun disarming technique Cas uses is Krav Maga. Don’t ask me if he actually has taken Krav Maga classes or if he just has picked up the technique during his drifter years because I don’t know.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**ANGEL WITH A SHOTGUN**

* * *

When Cas said guns weren't his thing, he wasn’t lying. That much is clear. It’s a practice that can be added to his list of things he sucks at, alongside carpentry, cooking, and house repairs. With his current skill level, he’d need a bazooka to hit somebody from an arm’s length away. Possibly not being able to accomplish that without shooting himself in the foot first. It’s immensely funny. To _Dean_ , that is. Castiel looks less amused. _A lot_ less amused. Sam bites his lip not to laugh and Dean cackles out loud as Cas, intensely focused, misses the target with every single bullet he fires.

He’s a sport about it, though. Taking the ribbing and laughter with stoicism. Dean throws an arm around his shoulders and dries tears of laughter with his other hand. “Oh, man! This, this is a talent in itself, wingboy. I didn’t think it possible for anybody to suck this bad at this, but you, you take the prize!”

Cas sighs and rolls his eyes, handing the gun back. “I just don’t see the point of you persisting that I have to keep shooting when, clearly, I have zero affinity for this practice.”

“Apart from the entertainment value…?” Dean sniggers. He doesn’t even bother to hit the button that would bring in the target on the automatic rail mounted on the ceiling. None of the bullets had met their mark.

Sam takes out his earplugs and moves from his spot in the lane beside Cas’. He had hit with all of his shots of course, even if they weren’t as spot on as Dean’s. “It’s a valuable skill, Cas. It could save your life one day. You just need to practise.” He puts the gun down on the fold-out table beside Cas. It’s full of guns of different models.Two of them still dismantled. They _may_ have gone a bit overboard with how many guns they brought, in their enthusiasm to figure out what kind of gun would suit Castiel the best. Bobby had given them odd glances when they raided the gun safe in his office, and he didn’t know about the ones they kept in the Impala. While Cas had acted like it was perfectly natural to have enough guns to supply a small company of soldiers, Bobby had muttered ‘Idjits’ and given them stink eyes.

At first, Dean had tried to teach Cas how to assemble a gun. Which had resulted in a Glock 23 rendered useless and missing its spring. The _spring_ Cas had managed to shoot off into oblivion when trying to push it into the gun, and now it’s nowhere to be found. Hence the two other guns left unassembled as Dean decided to abandon it as a lost cause and focus on having Cas actually try his hand at shooting instead.

“I very much doubt the importance of guns as a means of self-defence.” Cas turns to squint at the offending target that had remained unscathed and Dean steps away to lean against the divider between lanes.

Sam picks up the broken Glock, apart from the missing spring it has no bullets in it. He holds it out on a straight arm and pokes it in the middle of Castiel’s back. “Oh yeah? Then what would you do in a situation like this then?”

Cas tenses up, holds his hands out from his body by his hips, fingers spread. Then he rotates his body towards Sam, angling it so he comes out of the line of fire. He hits Sam's forearm with his elbow, pushing the gun further away. He locks Sam's gun arm straight by hooking Sam's forearm in his elbow and pushing at the outside of Sam's elbow. At the same time, he hits Sam in the face with his other elbow and yanks the upper arm of the gun arm against his chest, solidifying the lock. He kicks Sam in the gut making him fold and grabs the gun from his hand. As soon as he has the gun he takes three long strides away from the toppling Sam and points the gun at him from a safe distance.The whole maneuver is lightning fast and Sam barely has time to register the pain in his cheek and gut before he’s disarmed and on the floor.

Dean’s doing some weird sound between outrage and laughter. “Dude! I don’t know if I should swoon at your skills or beat the shit outta you for hitting Sam!”

Sam flips over and sits up rubbing his cheek, it hurts like hell but he can’t stop himself from laughing. It all happened so fast he didn’t even have time to get scared.

Cas lips quirk into a hint of a smile and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. He looks challengingly at Dean. “You are welcome to _try_.”

Sam sees the spark in Dean’s eyes that means he’s hooked on the bait but before his stupid big brother can get himself into a fight―friendly or otherwise―Sam speaks up. “Guys! Please don’t.”

Cas instantly turns his attention back to Sam. “Your example was foolish. First of all, having a gun of my own would not have helped me in that situation, and second of all, guns are weapons suited for ranged attacks. The moment you step in close you lost much of your advantage.” Cas puts the broken gun down on the table and offers a hand to help Sam up.

“Yeah, no kidding!” Sam says and Dean sniggers. “How was I supposed to know you were some kind of ninja?”

“That was fucking badass!” Dean fills in.

Cas preens a little under their praise. “What? You think I haven’t been up against guns before? I’ve lived a rough life. I can tell you, Sam, you must always assume your opponent is carrying. And always assume they are ‘bad ass’. Presumptions otherwise will get you killed.” Cas does the air quote thing while he speaks and brushes dirt off Sam.

“Dude, if I was a girl and saw what you just did, my panties would be drippin wet!” Dean says.

“Dean. You _are_ a girl,” Sam tells him and Dean goes crimson, muttering “Shut up, bitch.” while Cas giggles and looks shy. A perfect opportunity to put his matchmaking plans to work. He turns to Cas. “I still think it is important that you master the basics. It feels like you're not even trying. Dean can show you."

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. “I've already shown him how to do it.” 

“No. I mean a little more hands on.” Sam guides Cas back into the lane and places a gun in his hand. Then he pushes Dean to stand behind him. He grabs Dean’s hand and places it on top of Castiel’s. “Show him,“ and to Cas; "Make an effort.“ Then he steps away from the two of them. 

Dean has let himself be manhandled by Sam while eyeing him with a dubious expression. “ _Ooo_ kay. . . ?" He says sceptically but turns his attention towards Cas who remains impassive and unreadable during it all.

* * *

Dean takes Cas’ other hand and places it on the gun too, boxing him in with his arms. He feels Cas relax into his hold and lets himself be easily maneuvered. “Okay, flyboy. Hold like this. Light grip with your trigger hand. Never have your trigger finger on the trigger until you’re ready to actually shoot. That way you won’t have the gun go off accidentally. Grip firmly with your supporting hand. No. Keep your thumbs just below the frame. Yeah, like that.” Dean shows him how he should hold, keeping his hands on top of Cas’ and correcting his faults. “You wanna have your shoulders forward and elbows just a little bit bent to absorb the recoil a bit better. Lean forward a little into the shot. Yeah. Just like that, Angel.”

“Why should I not grip tightly with my trigger hand?” Cas asks.

“If you do, you’ll end up pulling the gun in a sideways direction when you pull the trigger and your shot will not be as accurate. Also, if you want to shoot as accurate as possible, you want to let the gun come up in the recoil. But if you’re shooting rapid fire, you may instead need to pull the gun down a bit with each shot to compensate for the recoil. You lose some of the accuracy but it can be necessary sometimes.”

Cas snorts. “At this point, I hardly think I need to worry about losing my accuracy, Dean,” he says with self-deprecating humour.

Dean grins. “You might be right about that, wingboy.” It feels really good to have Cas leaned up against his chest, his scent doing a real number on Dean’s self-control. “Now, when you shoot, you don’t want to pull the trigger, you want to squeeze gently. Again, that is to prevent from affecting the direction of the gun, losing accuracy. Like this.” He cocks the gun and puts his head on Cas’ shoulder, brushing against his cheek and takes an aim. With his finger on top of Castiel’s, he squeezes. The gun goes off hitting the target squarely. “Now you do it,” he says. He corrects Cas’ grip a bit and lets his hands fall to Cas hips, his head still on Cas’ shoulder so he can see the aim. “A little more to the left. Yeah. Like that. Now squeeze.”

Castiel fires. It isn’t spot on but the bullet doesn’t go wide for once and Cas makes a little pleased ‘eep’ noise. Dean just wants to kiss him and is on his way to angle his lips towards Cas’ neck when he suddenly remembers Sam and darts a glance backwards. He _almost_ jumps away like he’s burnt. His brother is fucking _hovering_! Sam has some odd fucking excited smile that Dean can’t interpret at all. Dean steps away from Cas. “Carry on,” he flusters awkwardly. Sam looks disappointed.

_What the actual fuck?_ Sam has been acting weird lately. Not the best moment to forget himself or he’s gonna be so busted. Does Sam suspect something? Shit. Of course he must! Dean has been standing with his hands on Cas’ hips for Christ sake! He could always say it was for stability or some shit like that. Yeah. Like his nosy little brother would buy it. 

_Shit!Shit!Shit!_

When Cas’ gun goes off Dean flinches, startled. 

“Good work, Cas!” Sam congratulates and Dean looks up to see that Cas has hit the target again and looks mighty proud of himself even if it’s just on the outskirts of the target area.

The next bullet also hits the target. “Yeah! That’s it, Angel!” Dean praises and Cas throws a look at him over his shoulder, grinning proudly. All Dean wants to do is to go wrap his arms around Cas and nuzzle him. But a glance reveals Sam is still hovering, watching them way too fucking intently. So instead he picks up a gun, loads it and goes to the lane beside Castiel’s to fire some rounds. Honouring Sam with a suspicious stink eye when he passes him.

* * *

Castiel decides that one round of actually hitting the target is enough. Quitting while he’s ahead. Instead, he watches the brothers shoot. It’s apparent that this is a pastime they find to be very relaxing and enjoyable. Dean took to the guns with almost religious zeal while Sam treats it more like a form of meditation. Cas has never liked guns. In his book violence should be something intimate and close up. It should be adrenaline and endorphins mixed together, making a cocktail that made you feel alive. He’d enjoyed the martial art classes Father had put him in, just as much as the figure skating and dancing. Father had wanted him to learn discipline, agility, and get the lighting reflexes that went into martial art. He had no actual violent intentions for his son. In fact, he had preached pacifism. Any battle should be won with brains, by understanding and outsmarting an enemy. All the lessons he put Castiel through was somehow focussed on making him a winner on the ice. From psychological warfare off the ice to perfection on the ice. Even learning different languages was to further that cause, as it enabled Cas to pick up on discussions between trainers and competitors when they thought nobody would understand. Cas has a strong affinity for language. It doesn’t take him long to pick up a new language or an accent. 

It would probably give Father a new heart attack and kill him all over again if he knew what became of Cas after his and Meg’s death. How his teachings had prepared Cas for living rough. Cas had been so angry and full of grief. He felt dead inside and nothing could dispel the feeling of not being real anymore. He had a strong sense of dysphoria and often felt like he was just a spectator in his life, unsure if he was even real or not. Everything was gray. Until he got into his first street fight. For a moment he was alive, and fully _there_. After that everything turned into a search for that feeling. Danger was a key word in that search. Adrenaline was his biggest drug. Dancing and sex worked too. To an extent. So did some drugs, he discovered. But nothing brought him to life like violence and other extreme adrenaline activities like skydiving or driving high speed on curved roads. 

Guns, however, are impersonal, ranged weapons. Designed to wipe out an enemy from afar. If you used guns, you didn’t get the rush Cas had craved. Still craved, he admits to himself. The need isn’t even remotely as intense as it had been. Dean is a great factor in that. The man is life itself. He feels so bloody much. Dean feels it all, and it rubs off on Cas, allowing him to feel alive too. 

When Dean touches him, it’s like he’s a globe with a Tesla coil in it and Dean is the hand on top, centring all electricity and sensation to the point of contact. It’s ridiculous how affected he is. For somebody like him, always in control of himself and his environment, the sex had been a religious experience. Anything even remotely close to control had crumbled under the onslaught of feelings. He was overpowered by want, by sheer _need_. He had managed to warn Dean at least. And resorted to begging in the face of reluctance. Reduced to an addict begging for a fix.

Cas busied himself with rearranging the different pieces of the disassembled guns haphazardly on the table. Curious if Dean will be able to put them together with the same ease if they are spread out and mixed together. Then his phone rings. He looks who’s calling before he answers.

“Hello… Yes. ….Are you sure that is wise? ….mhm. ….I would like that. ….At the gun range. ...No not that one, the indoor one…. Okay, I’ll see you shortly then. Goodbye.”

Well. This is going to be interesting. Luci is coming here. He knows for a fact Sam doesn’t mind. That was made abundantly clear when he came home from his doctor’s appointment to find Luci and Sam in Luci’s quarters. Dean and Luci on the other hand… Interesting indeed.

* * *

"Who was that?" Sam asks when Cas gets off the phone. Cas is staring at the phone with a ponderous expression. 

Cas looks up and meets his gaze. "Luci. He's coming here."

A thrill of anticipation mingled with trepidation runs through Sam at the mention of Lucifer. Dean's reaction is instant. 

"Hell no! I don't want that piece of shit anywhere near―"

Cas breaks him off, eyes turning hard. "Dean! You promised!"

"I didn't! I said I'd―"

"You said you would try!"

"Yeah, but―"

"Dean! No buts. This is important to me."

"C'mon, Angel..."

"Don't 'angel' me when you're acting like an assbutt. You said you'd try. So try, or I'm out of here."

" _Caaa_ as!"

Sam watches in fascination as the word-duel goes back and forth. He has obviously missed a conversation on the subject of Lucifer. But the interesting thing is how Dean goes from looking furious to deflating into a whiny pout. At the last drawn-out whine of 'Cas' Castiel crosses his arms across his chest, throws Dean a petulant glare, _sniffs_ , and turns his back to Dean, nose in the air. 

"Fine," Dean says crossly and turns back to the lane, emptying his mag in rapid fire. 

"Good." Cas turns back facing them with a smug little smile. Dean throws him a sulky glare when he goes to fetch more ammo. 

Sam gets this surreal feeling of being caught in between a married couple arguing. Oh, and it gets better. Cas walks up to Dean when he's back in the lane and puts a hand on his shoulder. Dean shrugs it off and glares. But now Cas has switched on his charm. He sidles in in front of Dean and runs his hand along Dean’s arm, down to his gun hand, looking up at Dean with big innocent eyes through his lashes. He's saying something but it is too low for Sam to hear. Dean seems annoyed and shakes his head. Cas holds his position, his hand over Dean’s on the gun, saying something again. Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine!” he says and spins Cas around arranging him in the position they had earlier, helping Cas to find the right position on the gun. Cas melts back against Dean’s chest with a self-satisfied little smirk Dean can’t see. Sam would be jumping for joy seeing Cas flirting if he wasn’t all jittery inside about knowing Lucifer is on his way.

“Guys, I’ll wait outside,” Sam yells to them and heads for the exit. 

“No. Wait. Sam!” Dean says behind his back followed by a yelp and a " _Sonnova Bitch_! _Caaa_ -as!”

Sam has no idea what Cas did behind his back but whatever it is, it distracts his brother enough for him not to stop Sam from going outside to wait for Lucifer. Once he shuts the door he expects Dean to come after, but he doesn’t. Two minutes pass, Sam listening by the door, then he hears shots being fired. He sags in relief against the door. Castiel is working some kind of magic on his brother. He must be one part siren to rein in Dean’s hatred for Lucifer to something manageable. It has been Hell keeping secrets from Dean all these years. But Lucifer is right. It isn’t over. Michael’s words to him when he was 14 ring in his ears still. “Breathe one word of this and Dean will die. I’ve made arrangements. Trust me, little sweetling, his death will be very slow in coming and very, _very_ painful. Do you understand, sweetling?”

Even after all this time, a shiver runs down his spine at that particular memory. Michael crouching above him, eyes so frighteningly sympathetic, the gentle caress of his cheek. Almost loving. And when he didn’t respond, the other hand coming down and pushing on the broken rib until Sam screamed and sobbed that yes, he understood. Never had Michael’s expression shifted into something malignant.

* * *

**NOVEMBER 21st, 2007**

* * *

”Do what you wish with him, but make sure he doesn’t die. He’s mine and I have plans for him,” Michael tells the three strangers when he stands up and dusts off himself. “I’ll see you again, sweetling,” he says with a mischievous wink and a smile to Sam before he walks away, leaving Sam in the hands of the three thugs that had cornered him by the wall of Free Will’s ice hall on the way from practice. He’d tried to get away but to no avail. A phone call and Michael had shown up in minutes. Striking like a cobra, Sam didn’t stand a chance. He’d tried to fight but there was no way he could get out of the circle of three grown men around him and Michael. And Michael is soo damned fast. Blocking Sam’s pitiful (in comparison) attacks, countering with open-handed jabs that cut like knives and hit their target expertly in extra sensitive areas, until Sam was a crying mess on the ground. And all the time he’d looked so goddam _friendly_!

Pure terror washes through Sam when the men leer down at him. He scrambles up on his legs, but no sooner is he standing before a heavy boot sends him flying against the wall, knocking his head into it. Rough hands grab him and hold him up from behind, leaving him wide open, the broken rib screaming like fire in his chest along with a multitude of other aches. A punch in the stomach steals his breath and another one to his head almost knocks him out. Suddenly he’s dropped and one of the men screams, the scream is cut short with a gurgling sound. Sam sinks down with his back against the wall and tries to blink the tears out of his eyes to see what is happening.

One of the men is unconscious in the snow, a pool of blood underneath him. Another is currently falling to his knees from a fist to his face. The third one is holding his hands up to ward off Lucifer, clad all in white, his whole demeanor screaming murderous wrath. “No, no! Michael ordered us―”

”I don’t give a _shit_ what Michael said! I will not have your disgusting mudmonkey hands touch a hair on this boy!”

”But. But―” the man can’t be that smart to argue in the face of an enraged Lucifer. Lucifer’s face turns red, eyes going next to black and the man pales to nearly green as Lucifer pulls a gun with a friggin’ _silencer_ and points it at the man. “I’m sorry, Бог брат! Please don’t kill me!”

Lucifer sneers and gestures at the unconscious man on the ground with the gun. “Take that piece of trash and get out of my face.”

The man, and the other one that had fallen to his knees, hurries to obey. Sam has trouble discerning what kind of injury the unconscious man has as the other two hoist him up and drag him away. There’s an awful lot of blood around his throat area. Lucifer puts the gun back inside his jacket and follows the men with a watchful cold gaze until they’re out of sight. Then he turns toward Sam and strides hurriedly to his side, sinking down beside him, cold rage replaced by worry in his eyes. “How grave are your injuries, Sammy?”

Sam can’t help his fear. He’s been scared of Lucifer before but right now he’s downright terrified. He’s hurting everywhere, his clothes have been ripped and tattered in his capture and he can feel blood running down his temple. Lucifer came to help him, so there is no reason to be afraid of him, now is there? Except the men had been and he is carrying a gun with a silencer and he is best friends with Michael and _Jeezus!_ Yeah, there is reason to be afraid of him! Sam knew he was dangerous. He remembers thinking that Lucifer was going to kill that man that came to Sam’s help outside of the aquarium. Lucifer hadn’t even denied it. Oh Jesus! He really _was_ going to kill him! It just hits home for Sam at that moment. Before it had been an idea, a concept. Just a theoretical thought. But now, seeing Lucifer in all his glory, making good of his name, shining like the morningstar, disposing of the threat towards Sam, not even getting dirty despite wearing his white angel jacket and white jeans… Oh Jesus! Except for a hand drenched in blood that is. Now it really hits home that Lucifer is a killer. Capable of honest to God murder without a second thought. Sam’s shaking with fear.

Lucifer reaches out a hand and caresses his jaw affectionately. Sam has an urge to throw himself into his arms and cling, but the fear is overwhelming that urge right now. Besides, the pain in his body stops him too. “Sammy. I can’t prevent Michael from hurting you. I do my best to keep him away, but I can’t stop him. I can, however, promise you, that you will never again lay eyes on those other men. Anyone else besides Mikey so much as looks at you funny - tell me, and it will be the last thing that they ever do. That’s a vow I make to you. You are way too good for this to happen to you, and I wish I could make it go away, but I can’t.”

Lucifer is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. There’s so much sadness and affection in his eyes and Sam doesn’t know how to deal with it. Michael had also looked at him like he was something precious, and touched him with affection at the same time he was hurting him. The difference is that Lucifer’s touch is oddly comforting despite how scared he is of him right now, while Michael’s felt like a violation and made him want to throw up.

He’s about to ask Lucifer why he won’t stop Michael when he hears Dean.

”SAMMY!”

Sam scrambles to his feet and runs to his big brother, ignoring how bad his rib and one leg hurts. He throws himself into the safe confinements of Dean’s arms and starts crying again.

"You **ever** hurt him like this again I'm gonna **fuck** you up!" Dean yells at Lucifer.

NO! He wants to tell Dean that Lucifer saved him, that Lucifer is a friend and that Dean shouldn’t hurt him. But then he’d have to tell him what Lucifer saved him from, and Michael had said he was going to kill Dean if Sam told him. And apart from that, if Sam told Dean _how_ he knew Lucifer, Dean would be furious at Lucifer anyhow. Lucifer is an adult, 7 years older than him, for whom Sam has cut class to follow blindly. Like that isn’t bad enough, he can hardly tell Dean how much time he’s spent curled up with Lucifer being caressed in an adoring way. It doesn’t matter if he told Dean that the Angel doesn’t mean the touching to be sexual. Seen from the outside it’s wrong so he can’t tell Dean _anything_. He resorts to just shaking his head saying “no no no no no no” against Dean’s chest.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

A car stops outside of the shooting range and breaks Sam out of the memory. Lucifer gets out of the passenger seat and waves goodbye to whoever is driving. His lips tug up into a smirk when he sees Sam standing outside the door and Sam leans back against the door to prevent anyone from coming out and surprise them. His stomach is in knots as Lucifer saunters up to him.

“Well well. You’re so eager to see me you’re waiting for me outside. That’s sweet, Sammy.”

“Shit, Lucifer. This is a bad idea. Why are you really here?” Sam frets and fidgets. One part of him is really glad Lucifer is here. He still feels the same glow of happiness in his chest now as he did all those years ago, before everything turned toxic. It’s insane. Part of him is freaking out because of all the times Lucifer and Dean had been in near vicinity of each other, they had always been balancing on a knife-edge of a fight and too many times actually fought.

“Because you asked me to,” Lucifer says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches out and strokes a strand of hair out of Sam’s eyes, pushing it behind his ear. Sam stops himself before he leans into the touch.

“Yeah, but the amount of firearms we got in here? Hardly the safest way place to start playing nice with each other!” Sam gestures haphazardly, showing he’s upset.

Lucifer tuts. “Why, Sammy. We’re all adults here. I’m sure we’ll get along just dandily. What could possibly go wrong?” Lucifer lifts an eyebrow in question and smirks, looking every inch the arrogant prick he can be sometimes. He puts his hands in his back pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“Asshole. Let me just peek inside to see that the coast is clear,” Sam says and turns around with his hand on the door handle. Before he can open it Lucifer leans up against his back and puts his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Why? Are you afraid we’re going to catch them going at it with firearm edgeplay, hm?” he says teasingly.

“Ew! No! Don’t be gross!” Sam makes a disgusted grimace. He does not want to think about guns going into orifices of any kind. Especially not in the context of his brother and Cas. In fact, he does not want to think about anything going into any orifices at all in the context of Dean and Cas even if he hopes they’ll end up together. “That’s disgusting. How can you even think of stuff like that?”

Lucifer sniggers at Sam’s reaction. “It’s a natural thought. I know people who are very into that sort of things.”

“Uegh. I don’t wanna know the people you know who do stuff like that!”

Lucifer pulls down his lips and raises his eyebrows in a facial shrug. “You’ve got a point there, Sammy. I don’t want you to know those people either.”

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation. Before he can lose his nerve he pulls the door open and steps in, Lucifer hot on his heels. Dean’s standing a step away from Cas laughing and Cas is holding the gun lax at his side with a blank expression, accepting the taunting laugh without complaint. When he spots Sam and Lucifer Cas smiles. Dean sees them a millisecond after and stops laughing, his expression turning dark. Sam hears Cas say “Dean…” warningly.

Bold as the idiot he is Dean speaks up. “Hey, Luci! Are all Angels useless at handling guns? Cas here can’t shoot worth a shit. I bet you suck even worse,” he taunts, voice dripping with scorn.

Lucifer stops in his track and Sam looks over his shoulder, certain that all Hell is going to break loose. He can’t believe how stupid his brother is to call Lucifer by the very private nickname Michael and Cas have for him. And on top of that goading him. Lucifer’s jaw muscles clench, then he takes stock of the room, purses his lips and looks back at Dean.

“You’re on, Deanie. What do you bet?”

Okay. Not what Sam expected. Dean neither, judging by the confused grimace his brother is making.

“Um… I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So you’re a coward then,” Lucifer concludes with a mocking tone of voice.

Dean scowled deeply. “Fuck you, I’m not! What do you want?” 

Trust his hotheaded big brother to rise to a bait.

“A night out, you and me, you’re paying,” Lucifer says.

“What?!” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Sam’s too by the way. Cas just looks pleased.

“We’re practically family nowadays, Deanie. Yes or no?” Lucifer smirks, voice laden with sarcasm.

Dean scoffs. He opens his mouth to speak, throws a glance at Cas who’s looking at him in a mix of pleading and disciplinary manner. He closes his mouth again, jaws clenching, and then says “Fine,” grumpily.

Lucifer saunters up to the gun table and quickly assembles one of the two stripped guns on the table, a Sig Sauer P229 9mm with ten rounds. Not even stepping away from the table he aims at one of the targets and fires five double rounds in rapid succession. _Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam._ Then he puts the gun down on the table with a self-satisfied expression.

“Sonova…” Dean mutters and hits the button to retrieve the target Lucifer had shot at. Both he and Sam are wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed. Cas looks more curious than anything.

“I take it that is accounted for as a good performance?” Cas says and squints at the man-shaped target Lucifer had chosen to shoot at rather than the round one in the lane Cas and Dean had been standing in. He sticks his finger through the hole in the heart and wiggles it.

“Um… Yeah, it is, Cas,” Sam says and goes to inspect the target along with Cas and his brother. There are two holes in it. One in the heart and one in the head. Every bullet has hit in an area no bigger than a coin. “It’s called shooting a _doublé_. You put one bullet in the heart and one in the head in rapid succession to ensure that your target is dead. This level of accuracy under rapid fire and from that distance is very impressive indeed,” Sam explains.

“Sounds like the difference between self-defence and murder,” Cas states. “First bullet you can get off as self-defense, the second one is ‘ _die you bloody twat_ ’ and a life sentence,” he concludes drily with those air quotes that Sam used to think were silly, but nowadays finds himself using on occasion. 

Lucifer sniggers and Dean snorts.

“Yeah, but it might also be the difference between life and a bullet in the back,” Dean says. He has been looking every inch as impressed as Sam but now he looks up at Lucifer’s smirk and gets an annoyed, determined expression instead. He goes to fetch another man-shaped target and replaces the one Lucifer had shot at, then hits the button that will send it back to the same distance away on the rail. 

He then goes to the gun table that Lucifer’s currently leaning towards with his arms crossed over his chest. With a challenging stare, he proceeds to assemble the other gun and tossing safety out the window just like Lucifer had, he opens fire from the place he is standing. _Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam, Ba-Bam._

“How about that? The pup can shoot,” Lucifer says with a mocking tone, sauntering after Dean to retrieve the target. 

All bullets except for one has hit with almost the same accuracy as Lucifer’s. Dean mutters a “Fuck” under his breath.

“And this is why you make it a _doublé_ ,” Lucifer says with a smirk looking at Cas and pointing at the bullet hole that missed the heart and went into the chest cavity instead. “I guess that means you owe me a night out, Winchester,” Lucifer says and claps his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean squirms away with a disgruntled and disgusted look on his face. “Yeah well, I sure as Hell ain’t gonna enjoy it!” 

Lucifer sniggers again.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m sure they are both very long, wide, and magnificent. But if you both could just zip up and pocket your rulers, that would be great,” Cas remarks with a fed up expression.

Sam turns his back to them to hide his amused grin and pretends to study the target. The fact that they’ve been using a man-shaped target gets him thinking. “Hey, guys. You think you could ever actually kill someone?” Behind his back, everything turns very still and quiet. Sam turns around.

Lucifer’s giving him a sceptical don’t-ask-stupid-questions-look. Cas has a blank expression that could mean anything, and Dean… Dean is looking at his feet, pink colouring his cheeks and jaws clenching. Sam’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Dean…?”

Dean won’t meet Sam’s gaze and that has Sam’s mind reeling. What does that mean? But then Cas speaks up and Sam is distracted.

“Yes, Sam. And know this. I will kill to protect you without hesitation. And when the time comes, I will die for you.” Cas pins him down with a very earnest, serious look on his face. 

Lucifer looks at Cas with a slightly troubled, calculating expression and pursed lips. 

Dean’s head snaps up to stare at Cas. “Whatta ya mean ‘ _when_ ’?”

_Christ_! Cas is like a dog with a bone. He just won’t let go. Sam is sure this once again is about Castiel’s suspicions about Sam being in trouble with the _Porodica_. He hasn’t even admitted it and Cas just has to bring it up again, didn’t he? Sam’s scared shitless Cas will say anything to Dean and all hell will break loose for sure.

“Guys! I’m hungry and need a drink. Can we go someplace to eat?” Sam hastens to say to prevent the topic from continuing.

“I could eat,” Cas agrees, probably picking up on Sam’s reluctance.

“Let’s gather up the firearms and go then.” Lucifer walks to the gun table and Sam follows him, eager to get away while Dean tries to coax Cas to explain himself and Cas―God bless him―stonewalls him.

“This one is a true beauty,” Lucifer says and picks up Dean’s stainless steel Taurus PT92 with the mother of pearl grip.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Dean deserts Cas and hurries scowling to Lucifer’s side.

“You’ve got good taste,” Lucifer says and takes a gun out from within his jacket, handing it over to Dean without a second thought.

It’s another Taurus PT92. But it has a bluish black barrel, golden highlighted details, a rosewood grip with intricate carvings of chain links and the letters L.S. Dean inspects the weapon, allowing himself to be swayed by the friendly gesture to accept Lucifer doing the same to his gun.

“Huh. So do you apparently. This is a nice gun. Who’s ‘L.S’?” Dean asks and hands the gun back while accepting his own from Lucifer.

They both put their guns inside their jackets in an oddly synchronized way.

“That would be me. Morningstar is a taken name if that isn’t strikingly obvious.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your real name?”

“Morningstar _is_ my real name.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What’s your previous name then, jackass?”

“None of your business.”

And it goes on like that while they all help to collect the firearms, clean up and head out to the car. Cas and Sam floating warily on the outskirts of their brothers who try to play nice―not quite succeeding, but not quite failing either. Sam’s just waiting for the blow up to come. It’s about then Dean notices his car is the only one there.

“Hell no! He’s not putting his dirty feet in my Baby!” Dean points angrily towards Lucifer who stands there with his hands in his back pockets and a patient expression while Dean directs his protests toward Cas.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says looking disappointed. “We can walk.”

“WHAT?!” Dean looks outraged at the very idea Cas will abandon them to walk home through the snow with Lucifer.

A heated discussion ensues and by a wonder of all wonders, Sam finds himself seated beside Lucifer in the backseat of the Impala a little while later.

Dean’s looking like a thundercloud and Cas is smiling happily. “So where are we heading?” Cas asks.

“Roadhouse,” Dean says, at the same time as Lucifer says “Crossroads.”

“No! Roadhouse has much better burgers,” Dean protests.

“Yes they’ve got better burgers, but if you want to eat real food Crossroads is the place to go to.”

“Burgers count as real food! And the Roadhouse has a much nicer feel to it.”

“The Crossroads makes more sense diplomatically speaking. It is the closest thing there is to a neutral ground in twin towns. It is the perfect place for Angels and Freewillians trying to get along,” Lucifer counters.

“How about Ming Garden?” Sam suggests.

That gets a synchronized vehement “NO!” from the both of them, making Cas chuckle and Sam roll his eyes.

“Or we could get pizza and go home and watch _Frozen_ ,” Cas suggests innocently.

“Absolutely not!” Lucifer’s protest is instant.

“Why not? You think there’s anything wrong with cartoons, Luci? I’ve heard _Frozen_ is supposed to be good.” Dean glares at Lucifer in the rearview mirror.

“It is great!” Cas chimes in and Lucifer stares darkly at the back of his head.

“You obviously haven’t watched cartoons with, Cassie. If you had, you would not be as eager to embrace the suggestion.”

“How’s that?” Dean says sceptically.

“Because there’s singing. And any movie that contains singing will ensure Cassie goes around singing too, afterwards. When I say singing, I use the term loosely. _Very_ loosely.”

Cas chortles. “ _Okay, can I just, say something crazy?... I love crazy!... All my life has been a series of doors in my face, then suddenly I bumped into you…_ ”

“Oh no!” Lucifer facepalms as Cas proceeds giving an off-key solo performance of the duet ‘ _Love is an open door_ ’ from the movie. Lucifer leans forward and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Crossroads is closer. Hopefully, this will stop once we get out of the car.”

Dean side eyes Cas with big eyes. “Crossroads it is then,” he concedes.

Lucifer leans back again and winces when Cas takes a particularly high note.

“Is this normal behaviour for him?” Dean asks Lucifer, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Lucifer nods regretfully with a pained expression. “I’m afraid so. Try a six-hour bus trip of this.”

“Ouch! Man, I’ve gotta teach wingboy to sing!”

“Please do!”

Cas continues singing happily. Totally unperturbed by his unappreciative audience. 

Sam can’t help but to chuckle. This is going much better than he’d ever anticipated. Aside from an underlying tone of vitriol, Dean and Lucifer haven’t tried to kill each other yet and that is a major step forward. He doesn’t dare to speak much with Lucifer in case that will trigger Dean’s protective hatred, but his big brother is really trying. Maybe they could all get through a whole day in each other’s company, without tearing each other’s throat out? Sam hopes they will.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures that inspired Lucifer's gun. [The Gun](http://centermassguns.com/catalog/images/30673.jpg), and [the handle](http://www.carvingdreamsinwood.com/blog/wp-content/gallery/pistol-grip-carving/grip-1.gif).
> 
> As always - comment! :D  
> I need those comments to feed my muse.


	51. Do you ever dream of...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Michael have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Implied rape/murder
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  This chapter just happened. I have no idea where it came from.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**A PIPE DREAM**

* * *

December, 2007

Lucifer opens the door to Mikey’s quarters in the attic and locks it behind himself as always.

”In here,” Mikey calls from the bathroom.

Luci goes to check, opens the door and leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed. He picks up on something being wrong instantly. “You okay?” he asks redundantly.

Mikey is shirtless, clad only in jeans and scrubbing his hands free from blood over the sink, cold tap water running. Hunching over slightly, he grips the sides of the porcelain sink, a mix of blood and water running down on the sides, dripping on the floor. He meets Lucifer’s eyes through the mirror. “Not really, no. Could you stay the night?”

Lucifer roams his eyes over Michael to see if there are any injuries, not expecting to find any. Looking back up into Michael’s eyes again he answers. “You still got the blood fever?”

Mikey smiles. “No. I literally fucked the life out of her so I’m sated. I won’t overstep.”

Luci nods. “I’ll stay then.”

Michael looks relieved. He goes back to washing the blood off. “Thanks.”

”So who was the lucky girl?” Luci asks sarcastically.

Michael snorts. “You remember the mother who let her toddler stray when we picked up Winchester a while back?”

Luci nods.

”Well, I caught the same kid running out in the street. Seconds after I picked her up, a car came speeding around the corner. There was no way the driver could have stopped in time. If I hadn’t been there… Anyway, the bitch yet again was unaware her daughter was missing.” Michael’s jaws clench, eyes going cold and hard.

Lucifer hums. “And the kid?”

”The fucking whore didn’t know who the father was, so I arranged for the kid to be brought to the orphanage down in West Creek, along with funds that will sustain her throughout college.” Michael finally manages to get the blood off his hands, leaves the sink bloody and dries himself off.

West Creek is a luxury facility with a very nice and warm feel to it. It houses a maximum of 20 kids that never get adopted out unless they specifically ask for it. They have ‘foster parents’ working there and many of the older kids will come back and act like bigger siblings from time to time. There are horses, a big pool, a soccer field, and a tennis court on the grounds. Not so different from how he and Mikey had grown up. (Except for the training in criminal activities that is.) Needless to say, it’s not the ordinary run of the mill orphanage. Mikey had the place under meticulous scrutiny since he found it, making sure no one was fucking with the books and stealing from the kids who all had significant heritages. If he ever orphaned a child that didn’t have any suitable guardians that’s where he put them. “Did you make her watch her mother’s demise?”

”No! What, are you sick or something? That would fuck her up for life. You know as well as I do, what seeing stuff like that does to a kid!” Michael catches sight of Luci’s shit-eating grin and throws the wet towel at him. “Oh, you were joking, were you? Not funny, Luce! Not funny at all!”

Lucifer laughs and throws the towel back, catching Michael straight in the face. “You should have seen your face! That was funny in my book,” he grins. 

”Your face is always funny, asshole!” Mike says grinning back and tries to jab Luci in the stomach.

Lucifer dances out of reach and counters with a jab of his own. It escalates to an impromptu sparring-slash-wrestling-match and not long after they lie laughing, out of breath, on the floor of the living room area. Both boasting an array of new bruises on their bodies. Mikey rolls to the side and puts his head on Luci’s stomach as a pillow. Luci cards his brother’s sweat soaked hair, scraping his nails against the scalp. It’s moments like these he is glad Mikey is here with him. Moments when they let their guards down and just are siblings playing, no difference than when they were 7 and 10. It didn’t start getting tense until Michael turned 18 and was expected to take the responsibility of an adult. The missteps of a child could be forgiven, for an adult the rules were different. Luci had noticed the change in his brother after that. Like a rubber band being pulled taunt, ever stretching but wearing thinner. One day he will snap. With every year, the mask of happiness Mikey wore grew more and more hollow, an edge of desperation simmering beyond. Lucifer’s baffled that no one except him seems to notice.

Every time Michael had to go away for a while, he’d come home slightly changed. He worked so hard to be the best son, to be the best big brother, that that carefree part of him dwindled to the merest spark. It seemed Luci is the only one who looks at him without expecting perfection. Maybe that’s why Mikey loves him so much. Needs him, really. To be able to be just Mikey for a moment or two. “Big game tomorrow. Lets shower and go to sleep,” Lucifer says after they have caught their breath.

”Sounds good.” Mikey jumps to his feet in a smooth movement and offers a hand to pull Luci up. They shed their clothes and take a shower, washing the sweat off. Michael’s bath is big enough for both of them and they don’t bother taking turns, standing up showering. Luci pushes Mikey out as soon as his brother is done washing the soap off himself. “Clean up the blood from the sink and floor. It’s disgusting.”

Michael laughs. “So bossy, мали брат,” he says, but does as he’s told.

”Somebody has to be. You’d be lost without me. Floating away with that big head of yours, filled with air and grand illusions.”

Mikey snorts in amusement. “Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees dryly and towels himself dry.

Mikey leaves the room and Luci stays in the shower, turning the heat up to scalding hot. It feels good against the aches in his body. Mikey comes back, now dressed in navy PJ bottoms, with a clean towel for Luci. Luci shuts off the shower and takes the offered towel. He dries himself off and brushes his teeth alongside Michael. He ruffles Michael’s hair when he passes him on his way out of the bathroom, getting a smack on his ass for his effort. He sniggers and goes to put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a T-shirt to sleep in. He prefers to sleep naked, but training bids him not to. You never know when you have to get out of bed, ready to fight. True, the threat has diminished considerably since the move to twin towns, but old habits die hard.

He crawls into Michael’s big bed, really feeling how tired he is, but he waits for Michael. The vibe that something is wrong might have faded during their playtime, that doesn’t mean whatever caused it in the first place has magically disappeared. Mikey comes in and crawls into his side of the bed, cutting the light. “You want to talk about it?” Luci asks as soon as Mikey is settled.

”About what?”

”Whatever is eating at you.”

”I’m cellophane to you ain’t I?”

”Pretty much.” Lucifer hears Michael shift restlessly, the mattress dipping and moving as he shifts. Luci stretches his arm towards Mikey. “Come here, don’t be an ass.”

Michael scoots closer and puts his head on Lucifer’s shoulder, he lies on his back and scrapes with a nail under a nail on his other hand, cleaning away non-existent dirt. He sighs and hesitates before he speaks. “Do you ever wish to become a father?”

Oh. Well, that certainly is reason enough for Mikey to hesitate. This kind of talk is what could lead to him, the perfect son, coming under scrutiny. “No, I don’t. But I take it you do?” Lucifer bends the arm of the shoulder Michael is resting on to stroke his hair soothingly. He hears Michael swallow and yet again hesitate.

”I… I think about it sometimes. What it would be like, to have a son. Or a daughter for that matter.” He swallows again. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. I wouldn’t be allowed. If I did father a child I’d have to send him to _Otac_ and he would only know me as a big brother anyway. And if it was a daughter…” Mikey falls silent. _Otac_ didn’t approve of females. Their sisters didn’t survive their first year. When Michael speaks up again there’s anger in his voice. “Just think about how many sisters we’ve been denied! We could have had a bunch of little princesses running around, brightening our days, but no.” The quiet is filled by bitterness.

”You would have spoiled them rotten,” Lucifer says with a smile.

”Oh, like you wouldn’t?” Mikey says with a responding smile. “When you care for somebody you’re just as much of a goose as I am.”

They fall silent for a while, both lost in thoughts about their lost sisters and what it would have been like if they had been allowed to live. Princesses are probably the right word for it. They would have been overprotected, to say the least. Being a crime family who dealt with trafficking and prostitution, there would be an underlying fear of the same fate befalling their sisters after seeing the damage done to the girls who ended up in that trap. This is also what _Otac_ doesn’t approve of. Why he blames the feuds of the previous batch on the females. Claiming they befuddled their brothers’ heads.

”I just don’t get people, you know?” Mikey says and turns his head so he can look at Luci in the darkness. “People don’t understand how lucky they are. Like that whore of a mother… If she didn’t want a child she could have gotten an abortion, or let some couple adopt. But instead, she neglected her daughter and let her run off without noticing. What’s wrong with people when they do stuff like that? Anything could have happened. She could have run into a murderer or a rapist for crying out loud!”

Luci tugs Mikey’s hair teasingly. “That’s exactly what she did. Twice.”

Mikey laughs. “Fair enough. But I was thinking of somebody with ill intent towards the daughter, not the mother.”

”What if I have a taste for that, Mikey? What if that’s why I’ve been holding back when you’re bugging me that I should get laid.” It’s a rhetorical question. Luci finds the very idea abhorrent. His lack of sex drive aside, the idea of touching anybody prepubescent that way grosses him out. A view shared by Michael. He can feel Michael cringe at his side. A swallow, silence that drags, then relaxation.

”If that’s what you’re into, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Lucifer hums thoughtfully. This is one of the reasons his brother is going to snap one day. He keeps giving up on parts that are the core of who he is, sacrificing himself for the good of his brothers and the _Porodica_. Leaving a hole that needs to be filled with something else. Hence an ever-increasing blood-thirst and restlessness. Mikey turns a blind eye to two of their brothers’ less than savory age-preferences, but he’s also more cold and distant towards them. Not enough for anyone to take much notice, but Luci sees it. The smiles are fake, the affectionate touches few and far between and only given when there are people around to see. “No, I’m not into that. Just wondering if you’d try to talk me out of it, if I was.”

”You think I could deny you anything?” Humour laces Michael’s voice.

”Yes.”

Michael spins around, supports himself on his elbows and stares incredulously at Luci. “How can you think that?! There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you! Nothing I wouldn’t give you!” Hurt and distress edge his outbreak.

”What if I wanted another dog, hm?” Lucifer says calmly. “What if I started to actually like somebody? Care for somebody outside of the _Porodica_?”

Michael makes a distressed noise. “That shit would get you killed, Luce! I couldn’t―I can’t. Fuck, Lucifer! I can’t lose you.” Michael falls down on Luci’s chest, burrows his head into his armpit and clings, his fingers digging painfully into Luci’s sides. The desperation is tangible.

”Hence, you’d deny me something I want,” Luci states calmly.

”You don’t get it, Luce. What you said in the bathroom is the truth. I’d be totally lost without you. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one keeping me real. I can always be honest with you without fear of voicing the wrong opinion, of being reported and put under watch. I know you’ve got my back in everything and you never try to twist my head to gain favour. You know when to keep your mouth shut, but call me out on my bullshit when not even our elders do. Our little brothers they just look at me like I’m some flawless diamond, the perfect role model. I’m not. I try to, but I keep failing. Every time I do well, _Otac_ just piles more shit on my shoulders and I can’t _fucking breathe_!”

”When have you ever failed, Mikey? Hmm? You’re the very epitome of what we’re supposed to be like. The closest thing to a failure you’ve come is being so attached to me. I should be considered a pariah by now, not a saviour.”

”Don’t say that, Luci. You’re special. You know that. I know that and _Otac_ knows it too. I can’t fucking live without you.” Michael heaves himself up from his clinging position. Laces his finger together on Lucifer’s chest and rests his chin on them, looking up at Luci. “Did you know _Otac_ offered me to go to Russia and take over our uncle’s district?”

Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “No, I didn’t know that. When?” That was big. Their uncles are all very old just like _Otac_. Their health is declining and it’s time for them to retire soon. If they want to. The best option is sending a брат and groom him to take over before their uncles die. To be offered one of those positions just shows how high in regards Michael is held.

”First time _Otac_ asked was just before you turned 18. He also wanted me to be the one to execute your punishment.”

Lucifer sits up, heart racing, grabbing hold of Michael’s hair yanking him up with him. “Fuck! Why haven’t you told me?!” 

Michael’s eyes are filling up with tears. “What was I supposed to say? He wanted me to take the most precious thing from you and then abandon you! It makes no sense! It goes against everything he has ever taught us about loyalty! I argued. I said she was just a dog, she has served you well and saved both our hides on multiple occasions. I said I’d go if I could bring you. You might need her over there and shit. Nothing I said could sway him. I know he loves you more than the rest of us, but you don’t conform. You obey, but there’s no getting to your heart. You never... “ Michael squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt you. Not you. Never you. I don’t get why he asked. Why he would demand such a awful thing of me. Some fucked up test of loyalty I failed. But if I’d done that, I’d have lost you for real, just as bad as if you’d have been killed and I can’t stand the thought. I failed. I failed to prove my loyalty to _Otac_ and I failed to save your goddam stupid dog for you! I failed both of you at the same time!”

Luci slaps Michael hard to jar him out of the downward spiral he’s in. “You didn’t fail me, you stupid ass! There was nothing you could have done. _Otac_ is twisted. He is not sane. He has a god complex and too much power. The world is bent to his will and all he has left is playing mind games with us. I didn’t see it until he did away with baby. He has us under such a spell, we’re puppets dancing on his strings with no way of cutting ourselves free. He revels in our adoration. He’s excited by the power and control he has over us, at what lengths we will go to please him. I was no different. But the truth is, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the _Porodica_ anymore. He doesn’t care about us. We’re just freerangers to him.”

Michael looks absolutely heartbroken. Luci is holding his weight up by the hair on a straight arm. “Don’t say that, Luci. _Otac_ loves us! His teachings are why the _Porodica_ is the greatest, most powerful syndicate in the world! What you’re saying is blasphemy. It's talking like that, that’ll get you killed!”

Lucifer pulls Michael in, bring their foreheads together and hugs him with the arm not gripping his hair. “You know I speak the truth. In your heart, you know. It’s all about control. He can’t control me and that’s why I was being punished. Don’t doubt that the offer to take over Russia was given to you for any other reasons than you being exceptionally well suited to the task. But the timing of the offer was directed to break me, to break us, make us pliant to his control. We are closer than any of our siblings and he knows that. If you had obeyed he’d have taken from me the two things in life I love the most. You know I love you more than all the others. You know that, right?” He presses a hard kiss on Mikey’s forehead, a gift as rare as wild platypuses in Scandinavia. Then he once again presses his forehead against Michael’s. “His methods are flawed, Mikey. They’re killing us at the same time as they bind us together. You’re not the only one who struggle to breathe in these chains. I just want to be free to make my own choices. It’s all I want, the right to a will of my own that isn’t screened and approved by _Otac_. Shit, Mikey, I just want to play hockey. That’s it. Build a team, carve my mark in sports history, be free to take whoever I want to my heart, without fear of repercussions. Treat my team as a family and never need to worry what will happen if I do. Is that too much to ask?”

Michael snakes his arms around Lucifer in a tight hug. “I can’t believe in those things, Luce. If what you’re saying is true, my whole life is a lie, everything I’ve ever done is rendered moot. I’ve got to believe in _Otac_ and the _Porodica_! I’ll die if I don’t. I’ve got to have faith in what I’m doing is the right thing, Luci. _Otac_ loves us. He does! When he does things I don’t understand it’s because he is smarter, wiser, than the rest of us. Not because he wants to hurt us!” He clings to Luci, as desperately as he clings to the faith Luci already lost. “Please, мали брат, don’t say these things. If anyone except me hears you… It’s too dangerous. I’m scared shitless, Luci. I’m so scared of what will happen if…”

”If anyone finds out exactly where my loyalties lie nowadays,” Luci fills in for him with a hint of sadness.

”Yes.” Mikey lets go of him and lays back down on his back, carding his dark hair with his fingers as to comfort himself.

Luci remains sitting up. This is a subject they had not broached before to such detail. Luci hadn’t been so forthcoming in what his exact thoughts about _Otac_ were. But he had spent three years thinking about it, watching his family from an outsider’s point of view. He can understand why Mikey holds on so hard. Losing faith has devastating consequences. It would happen to Michael too the day Lucifer dies, he’s sure of it. But the fact that _Otac_ had tried to pit them against each other had come as a shock. Luci would never _ever_ have forgiven Michael if he’d carried out the punishment, and gone to Russia. Michael is right about the fact that Luci would have been lost to him if he had. “You said ‘the first time you got the offer’, tell me about Russia.”

Michael looks up at Luci and manages to compose himself a bit. “After that, he brought it up on several occasions. Our uncle’s health is steadily declining. The last times he even offered me to bring you. I was tempted. But I don’t think you would have wanted to come, even if you might have gone with me anyway.”

”I would have.”

”Yeah, but would you have wanted to?”

”No,” Lucifer says simply.

”That’s what I thought,” Mikey says and smiles tentatively.

”So you declined to be the most powerful man in Russia, knowing I’d follow you there because you thought your мали брат would get homesick?” Lucifer smiles warmly. The kind of open, affectionate smile few ever get to see.

Michael grins and rubs the drying tears on his cheeks. “Pretty much.”

”You know, I would have called you Rasputin,” Luci says and lays back down again. “Switched all your CD’s to the soundtrack from _Anastasia_.”

Michael whacks him in the stomach and Luci chortles. “That. Is reason enough to say no,” Mikey grins. 

”Aw come on! You deserve that station. You’d be great at it. And it would suit the lifestyle you prefer. I can make sacrifices for you too, you know.”

”You already do. You don’t think I know how badly you want out, how you keep your feet in the game for my sake? I do. Anyway, it’s too late. _Otac_ sent Babyface on my recommendation when I told him I was following you here and would not change my mind about Russia.”

Luci lets his arm fall open and pats his shoulder, letting Michael put his head there again. “What were the conditions for him letting you come with me?”

”Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Keep you on the right track and report you if you slipped.” 

Luci sniggers. “Boy, you’ve got a whole lot of reporting to do, because I’m bobsledding in the opposite direction from what he wants. It’s a little more than a slip!”

Michael laughs. “No kidding! Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. Just don’t misstep too much or I won’t be able to hide it. Don’t do anything that can get you condemned to death. I’ll do anything to keep that from happening but I’m only human and there are eyes and ears in places even I’m not aware of.”

”I want a new puppy.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Do you have a death wish? If word reaches _Otac_ you’ve gotten yourself a new dog without me telling him, we’d both be in trouble. There’s no way he’d believe you are not as attached to a new dog as you were with the old one. It’d be a blatant display of rebellion and even if you managed to squirm your way out of it, the dog would most likely meet the same fate as the old one.”

”He could live here. A small one. Maybe a miniature schnauzer? Or a pom? A Yorkie perhaps? Can’t be too hard to hide. We’ll say it belongs to someone else on the team,” Luci persists playfully, knowing full well that it isn’t really an option. Yet. Besides, he has another ‘pet’ to keep safe.

Mikey makes a long-suffering sound. “Why can’t you be like a normal person and just fuck something when you need some affection?”

That gives Lucifer an idea. It will need a lot of persuasion but may give him a way out of his catch 22 situation. And he’d have to lie to Mikey for it to work. He keeps the conversation going while he thinks. “Maybe I just haven’t found the right goat yet?” he says grinning. 

Michael chuckles. “I don’t believe you’re into that. I mean, I know you have a bleeding heart for all types of animals, but they don’t get a rise out of you, do they?” Also a rhetorical question. 

Lucifer starts stroking Michael over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Mikey’s always the most susceptible to suggestions and manipulations when he’s touched. Knowing how important sex is to his brother, and how utterly unable he is to understand that Luci has no sex drive, maybe lying about it would work. He needs to plant the idea, then wait for it to sink in and bring it up over and over in moments like these. Then maybe Mikey will cave. “Michael, I need to actually like somebody to want to fuck them. The first rule of the _Porodica_ condemns me to the life of a monk. If somebody does ‘get a rise’ out of me I can’t touch them or both me and him or she will be doomed.” He feels Michael frown under his fingers, a stray caress down under the ear confirms his pulse has sped up.

”You always say you never have any interest in sex.”

”I lie. What else can I do?” That is the lie. He has no interest in _sex_. But everything else he is saying is the truth and hopefully, this will be easier for Mikey to wrap his head around. If Mikey is still as adamant that Luci should get laid once the idea he is planting has taken hold, he can use it to protect Sam. He has to be really careful, though, as it may make Mikey even more watchful and afraid to lose him.

Michael’s mulling this over so hard Luci can hear the cogwheels turn. “Are you… Are you still a virgin?”

Luci chuckles. “Yes, you ass. Don’t you think I would have told you, just to shut you up, if I had climbed that hill?”

Mikey smiles, the frown smoothing out. He has his eyes closed, he closed them the moment Luci began stroking his face. He keeps still, knowing from experience that Luci would stop touching him like this if he moves to seek further contact. “But you basically just said, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying that for you to want to shove your cock into someone, you need to be making love, not just fuck? And that would be a reason for you not to tell me if you did fuck someone.”

Lucifer cringes inwardly at the imagery the words create, feeling slightly violated by the idea of sticking his cock into anybody. He hides the reaction well, though. He needs his brother to believe him even if he himself doesn’t. “Yes, but until I admitted this, you did not know I needed feelings to be involved, so I would have been safe telling you,” Luci lets his voice be filled with humour. “Isn’t it funny, that you’re always telling me to get laid, but in reality, you’re the biggest cockblock of them all.”

”Shit! I don’t think it’s funny at all. That’s so messed up, Luce!”

”I know. I’m going to die a virgin for your sake.” He grins. “So the least you can do is get me a puppy.” This is where he needs to stop for now, let the idea take hold and see exactly how important it is for Mikey that he has sex. The dog is something Mikey can’t relate to. “And you should get yourself a kid, Mikey. I’ll help you cover up the fact that you’re raising a baby. I’m not going to allow _Otac_ steal your daughter or son from you. We’ll bring the Angels to glory, do enough jobs for the _Porodica_ to keep them off our backs and fly under the radar. I’ll pretend officially to reconcile with _Otac_ as long as I can stay here with you and we can live our lives somewhat undisturbed.” He’s presenting it all as a pipe dream. Making it too big to be realistic. Just enough for Mikey to want, for him to try to make reality of the parts he _can_ give to Luci. If it works, in long-term it’ll give Lucifer Sam and put Sam under Mikey’s protection too.

”You know that’s never going to work…” Mikey says hesitantly. And then; “Shit that feels good,” as Lucifer starts massaging his shoulders, jabbing his fingers in a particularly tense knot.

”I don’t know that. If we’re careful, it might. You’d be a great father. But we can start with the team. I’ve compiled a folder of players I want you to recruit for us. Starting with an Englishman named Balthazar Roché. He’s a bit of a wild card, totally uninhibited off the ice, but his style compliments mine perfectly. Then there’s…” Lucifer goes through a list of names of players he wants. It has taken months to choose them, looking through different leagues and divisions. All he needs is for Mikey to give his blessing and put his charms to work as soon as the season is over. Mikey rolls over on his stomach as Luci works his back over, loosening knots and bringing relaxation. He listens carefully to all Luci is saying, turning to goo under his hands. He will protest some of the players, but not tonight. And since he doesn’t tonight, Luci will get them all. He knows how to wrap Mikey around his finger. Afterwards they talk about nonsense for a while, before they roll over to their own sides of the bed and fall asleep. One dreaming of small feet and baby talk and the other of freedom.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are cherished and adored.


	52. The Knights at the Square Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys are hanging out. Luci and Dean tries very hard to (not) get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Discussions of recreational drug use.  
> \- Mention of minor character death.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**FRIEND OF MY FRIEND**

* * *

Piling out of the car and into the restaurant does indeed stop Castiel’s pitiful excuse for singing. Dean finds it one part endearing and nine parts annoying and grating on the nerves. It’s not that Cas has an unpleasant voice. Anytime he does hit a note on key, he has a surprisingly clear bell-like voice that is totally unlike his usual smoky husk. It reminds Dean of their old kindergarten teacher who used to sing _12 Days of Christmas_ for children every year during the Holiday Market on the bridge. Two years ago Gabe had coaxed Dean into doing his only official musical performance at that market. Gabe, leading by example, had sung an awesome version of _Holly Jolly Christmas_ (Who knew the bugger could sing?) and Dean had sung _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ , gaining a number of phone numbers from swooning girls in the process. Gabe had declared he had a backup career to fall back on if hockey should fail him. And yeah. He could live with that. After the initial shyness, he’d enjoyed playing for an audience. Even though it had made him ache for his old guitar, never replaced after the house fire. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Cas didn’t hit many notes on key _at all_. Ten minutes in the car was enough for him to think Lucifer must have the patience of a saint to go through a six-hour bus ride of this, without accidentally killing his proclaimed brother. Dean _really_ should give Cas singing lessons.

Sam, on the other hand, seemed to think Lucifer and Dean’s suffering ears was a dandy joke and had asked Cas if he knew any other songs from the movie as soon as Cas was done singing the first one. Traitor.

Dean’s the first one to take a place in the booth. He shouldn’t have. Cas slides in beside him and that makes Sam and Lucifer sit together. Like the car ride wasn’t bad enough. The guy gives him the creeps. But Cas is happy and Sam... Whatta fuck! Sam, apart from being a little tense, seems fucking _content_. He sits opposite from Dean, placing Lucifer as far away from Dean as possible. At least the fucker isn’t touching his brother! It’s a fucking battle not to go for the throat as he tends to do whenever Lucifer is near. (No. _Luci_. The douchebag wants to play friendly? Fine. Then Dean is going to call him whatever Cas calls him, just to see if it pisses him off.)

Okay so the guy isn’t just creepy, he is scary. He fights dirty as fuck, add that marksmanship talent to that and, yeah. Scary. That was some awesome shooting! He doesn’t like to admit how impressed he is, but he’s rarely bested in marksmanship. And what’s up with that bet? Is he serious? Does Lucifer really mean they are going to spend a night out just the two of them? Can’t he just demand money instead and let Dean off the hook? It’s bullshit, that’s what it is!

Dean jerks, startled by Castiel’s hand on his thigh under the table. Okay, so this is the reason he hasn’t told the blond fuckface across the table to go to hell. It means a lot to Cas, right? Right. And Sam has always urged him to take the peaceful road. As long as Lucifer doesn't pull any of his dick moves against Sam…

The waitress brings them the menus and ask for their drink orders, then swiftly goes away again. Dean is sad to feel Cas hand leave him to flip through the menu.

”I wonder if Ruby works here today,” Sam says and opens his menu.

”That blond chick you used to hang out with?” Dean asks. He doesn’t touch his menu, already knowing what he wants to eat.

”No, the beautiful dark haired one. Haven’t seen blond Ruby in years.”

”She OD’d last spring,” Lucifer says, looking bored. He slouches in his seat like it’s a fucking lounge chair, arms draped over the backrest of the bench. It irks Dean how he always manages to look so goddamned relaxed. He hasn’t touched his menu either.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

”You knew her too, Luci?” Dean asks. A bit annoyed that Lucifer seems to be perfectly fine with Dean calling him that.

”Knew _of_ her. I don’t associate with trash.”

”Hey! That’s Sam’s friend you’re talking about!” Dean scowls at him and Lucifer raises a sceptical eyebrow, looking fucking condescending at Dean. 

Sam raises a hand between them, instantly trying to ward off a fight. “Dean, it’s okay. I broke off my friendship with her when she tried to coax me into doing drugs.”

Lucifer snorts. “Good thing you did. That dirty shit she was provided with would have messed you up within a year,” he sneers.

”Oh, and you’re some kind of expert? Connoisseur perhaps?” Dean taunts, being rewarded by Lucifer giving him a disgusted look.

”Wouldn’t touch that crap if you paid me to do it.”

”Then that’s what we should do on our night out! We should get ourselves stoned,” Dean grins, happy to see Lucifer grimace in distaste.

”Aww. No fair! I want to see Lucifer get stoned too,” Sam chimes in with a bright smile.

Lucifer’s head snaps toward Sam. “Sammy!” He protests, looking betrayed. It makes Dean snigger.

”What? I think it would be grand seeing you stoned. I think you’d get all mushy, sentimental and cuddly.” Sam grins.

”Yeah. A regular ol’ cuddly bear,” Dean agrees sarcastically just for the delight of seeing Lucifer squirm.

Lucifer pins Dean down with a challenging stare. “We’ll see how fun you think it is when I decide to cuddle with _you_.”

”Oooo! Excellent idea! I’m behind that. I’d love to see you two snuggled up on the sofa together, giggling at curtains and moon phases and other things that are particularly funny when you’re stoned,” Cas chimes in enthusiastically.

Simultaneously Dean and Lucifer utters “CAS!” and “CASSIE!” with horrified stares at him, making both Sam and Cas crack up with laughter.

”Yes! I can see it! Lucifer with his head in your lap, while you feed him grapes,” Sam sniggers at Dean.

”Ew! No! So not gonna happen!” Dean grimaces and shares a suffering look with Lucifer when Sam and Cas crack up again. What’s the world coming to when _Lucifer_ is the only ally at the table?

”Yes it will. I will personally see to it. An innocuous looking serving of baked goods and _voilá_!” Cas persists with a shit eating grin.

”Make it a pie,” Sam deadpans.

”You can’t do that. We’d get busted in the doping tests and banned from playing,” Dean grouses.

”Bloodworks can be tampered with, I’d make sure you needn’t worry about the results,” Lucifer answers him and glares at Cas.

Oh wow. Okay. Lucifer says that like it’s something easy to do. It makes Dean wonder who he thinks he is. “You can’t mean you’re okay with this shit?” Dean asks sceptically.

Lucifer makes an annoyed dismissive hand gesture. “Don’t be daft. Of course not. But I’m not going to risk our careers if our brothers decide that drugging us is a fantastic prank to pull. And don’t try to pin on me what you started. _You_ put this idea in their head.”

Dean pulls a face and shrugs apologetically. Their drinks arrive and the waitress asks if they’re ready to order.

”I’ll have the spare ribs,” Cas says and hands her the menus.

”The tenderloin for me,” Lucifer says.

”Yeah, me too,” Dean says. Somewhat disturbed that Lucifer chose the same.

”And how would you like them served?” the waitress asks, smiling.

” _Rare_ ,” Dean and Lucifer answers in unison and then give each other dubious stink eyes, much to Sam’s and Cas’ amusement. Dean snorts in displeasure and takes a swig of his beer to hide his consternation. He doesn’t like to have anything in common with the asshole next to Sam.

”I’ll have the shrimp salad,” Sam says and the waitress walks away.

Lucifer tuts and gives Sam a pitying look. “Sammy, there’s a reason we’re on top of the food chain and it is not because of our intake of leaves and foliage. Eating like that may stunt your growth,” he teases with a gentle voice.

Dean can’t hold back a chuckle when Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance. “It’s healthy,” his little brother says grumpily.

”Yes,” Lucifer agrees amicably. “For a cow.”

Dean cackles happily at Sam’s bitchface. “You see what I have to put up with?! If I didn’t do most of the cooking it’d be carrot sticks, tofu, and Brussel sprouts on a daily basis.”

”Brussel sprouts are cute. I’m not so sure if I consider them edible though,” Cas offers his opinion on the matter and drinks his elderflower weissbier with a thoughtful expression.

”They aren’t. And don’t get me started on tofu. Yuck!” Dean makes a face in distaste.

”Tofu tastes great!” Sam defends.

”No it doesn’t,” Luci and Dean once again say in unison and make faces of vexation afterwards.

Sam grins and Cas laughs. “This is bloody marvellous! We should have done this ages ago,” Cas says looking at Sam. “Can you imagine what Christmas would have been like with these two?”

”Nightmarish,” Dean mutters and Sam just laughs. The fucker Lucifer smirks and gives Dean a wink. Dean would have been getting a bit more upset by it if Cas’ hand wasn’t back under the table, stroking the inside of his thigh upward to his crotch. Dean leans forward on the table and sucks on his beer, trying to cover what Cas is doing. It’s stupid how easily Cas can turn him on and yank his chain. The moment Sam had gone outside of the shooting range (except for a nasty pinch on the ass) Cas had kissed him silly and told him all the things he wanted to do to Dean that they didn’t have time for. Then he commanded Dean to fire a couple of rounds while he let hands and mouth wander. Dean had been hard-pressed to keep his focus, to say the least. Years of drilling paid off, though, and each bullet had hit home. A very exciting discovery, however, was that Castiel’s distaste for guns ran only so deep as to himself handling them. Dean’s another matter. Pressed up chest to chest, boxed in with Dean’s gun arm over his shoulder and the other arm circled to to grip Castiel’s ass, Cas had become more and more aroused every time the gun went off, grinding himself against Dean making all these little delicious noises that just drove Dean mad. For it not to escalate Dean made them switch, making Cas shoot while Dean stood behind him, grabbing his hips and grinding against his ass. Needless to say, none of Cas’ bullets met their mark. Luckily Sam and Lucifer arrived just as Dean was busy laughing at Cas. A minute earlier and they would have been busted.

Lucifer suddenly frowns and reaches out his arm towards Sam, brushing his cheek. Dean would be launching himself over the table had Cas not chosen that moment to squeeze his half hard dick under the table. Sam tenses but the smile on his face doesn’t waver. “What happened here?” Luci asks, thumb brushing lightly against the vague bruise on Sam’s cheek before he retracts his hand again to drink his beer with a troubled expression. Both Sam and Dean relax when he’s no longer touching Sam.

”What?” Sam asks confused and touches his cheek, his face smoothing out in understanding. “Oh, that.” He grins and blushes. “That was my own fault.”

”Pffa! Wingboy turning ninja on his ass up at the shooting range, that’s what happened,” Dean fills in with a smirk.

Lucifer turns towards Cas and raises an eyebrow. “You caused this?” he demands.

Cas shrugs, unperturbed by the stern edge of Lucifer’s voice. “He stuck a gun in my back and asked me what I’d do if that happened in a real situation. So I showed him.”

”Was it loaded?” Lucifer asks Sam with the same stern edge.

Sam shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t. On top of that, it was missing its spring as Cas had tried to assemble it earlier and failed.”

”Miserably.” Dean adds. Both the Winchesters share a grin. Dean looks at Lucifer. “Anyway, Cas moved like a fucking badass motherfucking cobra, disarming Sammy and downing him in the same fucking movement. Haven’t seen anyone do that kind of moves since dad showed me as a kid. And he didn’t put much weight in teaching it to me, said that was not likely to happen very often.”

Lucifer relaxes again, the disciplinary aura fading.

Cas scoffs. “Happens often enough. People with guns are idiots.”

Lucifer’s lips quirk up in an amused smirk as he looks at Cas. “You _do_ realise two people at this table are currently carrying?”

”No take backs,” Cas says smirking too.

To Dean’s surprise Lucifer snorts in good-natured amusement, not taking offense. Sam leans over the table and lowers his voice. “You didn’t leave the Taurus in the car?” Dean shakes his head and Sam leans back again with a peculiar expression that Dean can’t read as his brother looks back and forth between him and Lucifer before shaking himself and sipping his Heineken. Oh well. Who knows what goes on in that brain of his gigantor baby brother half of the time. Dean is more interested in the fact that douchebag No. 1 hasn’t thrown a fit at any insults yet. Not what Dean expected from him.

”So you’re a fighter?” Lucifer asks Cas. Their food arrives, but it doesn’t stop conversation.

”I wouldn’t call myself that.” Cas cuts his food daintily, getting a little bit of everything on the fork before he puts it in his mouth. Who the hell eats ribs with knife and fork anyway?

”That’s bullshit!” Sam protests, stabbing a shrimp and some salad on his fork and then points with it towards Cas. “The stuff you told me when we left the hip-hop club? S’ gotta be based on experience.”

“Yeah. Seemed to me you were itching for a fight that night,” Dean agrees, remembering how Cas had seemed disappointed when Dean declared they weren’t going to stay. Dean looks at Castiel’s dainty eating and, _it’s ribs_ for crying out loud! “For fucks sake, Angel, eat with your hands!” He puts down his utensils, leans over to Cas and rips one of the ribs loose, holding it up for Cas to take. “It comes with a built-in handle, it’s served with wet wipes on the side. You’re _supposed_ to eat it with your hands!”

Lucifer and Sam chuckle in amusement as and Cas makes a discontented noise, but takes the offered rib anyway, pouting. “Good boy,” Dean says teasingly when Cas bites into the BBQ-sauce drenched meat. Cas turns his eyes down and fucking blushes, smile twitching around the chewed off bite.

Fuck! He’s so fucking endearing! Utterly gorgeous. How is it even possible to fall so deeply for someone? When even watching Cas eating a messy rib makes something do happy somersaults inside his stomach, how screwed is he not?

Lucifer speaks up and sends Dean back to his own food, afraid he might have been staring adoringly.

”Fighting skills fade when unused, Cassie.”

Cas nods and swallows. “I’m well aware. I do different _Katas_ every day to try to stay somewhat on my game.”

”What’s a Kata?” Sam asks.

”It’s detailed choreographed patterns of movements. The term is used in Japanese martial arts. I think you’d say _form_ for the non-japanese equivalent. You simply repeat certain movements over and over until they become reflexes,” Cas answers.

”Oh you mean that Thay Chi crap I’ve seen you do sometimes?” Dean says with his mouth full of food, gesturing haphazardly with his knife.

Cas chuckles and Lucifer smirks. “Tai Chi is hardly crap, Deanie,” Lucifer says condescendingly. “It may be practised mostly for its health benefits here in the west but in reality, it’s a Chinese martial art.” Lucifer turns his attention to Cas. “How come I don’t know about this? And what style are you practising?”

Cas tilts his head and smiles a lopsided smile at Lucifer. “The only reason you don’t know about it is that you haven’t meandered into my room at the time I’m doing it. It’s hardly a secret. And I’m afraid I don’t keep to one particular style, I mix. It’s less effective but then again, there’s no art on the streets.”

”What? He just walks into your room unannounced? That’s fucked up,” Dean says scowling at Lucifer who just smirks at him in amusement.

”Doesn’t bother me. I enjoy his company,” Cas says and Lucifer sticks his tongue out at Dean. Asshole. Dean flips him off.

”You’d be up for some sparring, Cassie? Haven’t had anyone to spar with since…” Lucifer lets the sentence hang. Sam tenses up but Dean and Cas don’t notice since Cas is busy giving Dean a covert pinch to chastise him for flipping Lucifer off and Dean glares at Cas for doing so.

”Yes. I’d like that very much, Luci.” Cas grins happily at the suggestion.

”You’re talking about your best buddy Michael, right?” Dean says, turning his attention to cutting his meat while he talks. Oblivious of the general mood drop and his company turning tense and guarded. “Speaking of which, you’ve noticed that if we keep this streak up both our teams are gonna be up for playoffs against the losing ChHL teams. Seems like we’re gonna be playing the Seraphims. How’d ya feel about that? Must be weird playing against your best friend, huh?” Dean stuffs his mouth with food and looks up. Sam is looking really fucking uneasy now for some reason. Cas isn’t showing any emotion at all, just turning his focus towards his food, but Dean gets the feeling he is listening very attentively.

Lucifer meets his gaze, sharp-eyed but amicably enough. “I don’t know, Dean. Is it weird for you and Sammy to play against Castiel? You would know the answer to that yourself. Frankly, it’s not the Angels I’m worried about.”

”Shit. I hadn’t thought about who we’re meeting,” Sam says, looking distressed and making Cas look up and pin him with one of his unreadable soul searching stares.

”Maybe you should stay on the bench,” Lucifer says quietly to Sam. But Dean hears it.

”Hey fuck you, asshole!” Dean scowls angrily to Lucifer. “Sam is a good player and we’re every bit as good as those fuckers!”

Lucifer glares back just as angrily. “I’d say you are better even, and that is why your team is going to win, just as we are, and both of our teams will move up to play in ChHL next year. And the year after that, you, me, and Cassie are going to be team members of the national team unless anything goes wrong _off the ice_. I regret to say I do not believe Sam will make that cut, at least not yet.” Lucifer turns to Sam, voice turning apologetic and eyes softening. “No offence, Sammy, but you have a lot more practice to do before you reach the same level as us.”

”None taken. I know where I stand amongst my peers.” Sam offers a smile to Lucifer who smiles back. 

What the fuck. What the _actual_ fuck?! 

Dean’s anger isn’t stunted, but his ability to find a reply is, because it doesn’t add up. Lucifer’s body language towards Dean is just as hostile as usual, but Dean finds no sarcasm in his words and that confuses the fuck out of him. He wants to yell at Lucifer for being conceited and full of himself, for talking about the national team as if it was a done deal. But Dean has been thinking the same thing lately, albeit without the same surety. Cas talks like that too. About things concerning his skills like it was just the natural order of things that it’s going to end up the way he wants it to. It’s hard to tell if it’s narcissistic or self-awareness. As for Sam, he’s only 21 and doesn’t have the same _it-_ factor as the rest of them have. He might very well reach the national team one day if he works really hard and really wants to. But he doesn’t share those big dreams with Dean. 

”Then why the fuck should Sam stay on the bench?” is the best retort Dean can come up with.

”None of your fucking business!” Lucifer snaps.

”Well this was a delightful dinner topic. Getting you stoned and cuddling seems like an increasingly necessary option by the minute,” Cas says dryly and dabs sauce off the corner of his mouth.

”Guys! Calm down!” Sam holds up his hands between them, giving both of them a little shove on the chest to break the glaring contest going on. “I’d like to eat in peace, not dodging flying fists, _again_ , which is what’s going to happen if you two don’t calm down. I friggin hate it when you fight!”

Lucifer breaks the deadlock stare and turns his attention to his food again like nothing just happened. “So, Sammy. This Ruby girl, a love interest of yours?”

”Not really. I’ve hooked up with her a couple of times at the Roadhouse. She’s really beautiful. But it doesn’t go deeper than that.” Sam jumps at the chance to switch the subject.

”I need to use the restroom,” Dean states. He needs to calm down. It’s obvious he’s the only one making a fuss and he is fucking it up for the rest of them. If he doesn’t calm down, he might end up taking a swing just on principle. Cas scoots out of the booth to let him out. 

Dean doesn’t realize Cas follows him until he reaches the restrooms and Cas bypasses him to the handicap toilet and pulls him in, locking the door behind them. “Look, Angel, if you’re gonna yell at me becummpffh!” All the sudden he has a mouthful of Angel shutting him up with a deep kiss.

Okay. _So_ not prepared for that. But he can adapt quickly to positive developments like this!

Cas kisses him like his life is at stake, clinging to him with his arms around his waist. Dean cups his stubbled cheeks, reciprocating. Getting excited real fucking fast. He breaks the kiss. “Cas I’m sorry about―”

”Shut up, Dee. You two are doing great. But you need to calm down and I need to have your cock in my mouth and we’ve only got minutes,” Cas pants, eyes getting that fevered look.

_Fuck yeah!_ Dean’s heart starts racing. Anyone could yank the door handle and stand outside waiting, understanding what’s going on when they get out. If they take too long, Sam’s going to wonder why. Dean sucks in Cas’ lower lip in his mouth and nips lightly. “ _Mine,_ ” is the most articulate answer he’s able to give to that.

Cas wasn’t kidding. In moments he’s on his knees in front of Dean giving a stellar blowjob with Dean’s hands fisted in his hair and Dean approaching the edge _fast_. The risk of being found out just turns Dean on even more. Acting like a spoiled brat, instead of warning Cas he’s about to come he pushes Cas’ head down as far as he can go and holds it in place. Cas doesn’t struggle, though. Instead he swallows around the cock and hums which sends Dean over, shooting his load in the back of Cas’ throat. Cas still doesn’t pull back, letting Dean hold him firm despite the need to breathe probably getting urgent. Once Dean does let go, Cas just takes one long breath of air and dives back in, to milk him for any leftover jizz until Dean is so over-sensitive he has to pull Cas up. Cas’ cheeks are ruddy and his lips swollen, he’s panting hard. Dean goes down on his knees in front of him to reciprocate. Cas tries to stop him from opening his jeans. “Dee, you don’t have to.”

”Fuck you, Angel. I want to.”

”I’m warning you, I will come the moment you put your lips around me. No joke.” Cas sounds desperate.

Dean swats his hands away and tugs his zipper down. Cas whimpers when Dean pulls his cock out. Okay. He is doing this. He’s going to put another man’s dick in his mouth. _Holy shit! Here ’e goes!_ Dean licks his lips and grips the cock firmly with one hand and then sinks his mouth down over it, flattening his tongue and sucking lightly.

_No fucking joke indeed!!!_

Cas nearly folds over with a silent cry, catching his balance with his hands on Dean’s back. Hot salty sperm floods Dean’s mouth, he swallows and uses his hand to milk it further. Cas makes pained noises and jerks with every stroke. “ _Deee…_ ” he pleads, suffering.

Shit. Cas coming is definitely his new favourite thing! He’s so fucking hot and falling apart so easily. Just crumbling like Dean was some fucking god who could render him out of control with the slightest touch. It’s heady as fuck!

He tucks Cas back in and gets up to kiss him. Cas licks into his mouth, trying to free him of any residue of come. Dean can taste his own orgasm in Cas’ mouth. He doesn’t mind the taste of come at all, even if he doesn’t crave it like Cas does. “How long have we been in here?”

Cas throws a glance at his watch. “Four minutes.” He looks fucked out.

Dean combs Cas’ hair back in place with his fingers and giggles. “Four minutes? _Jeezus_! Talk about a quickie,” he grins.

Cas gives Dean a warm, sated smile. “Yes. We have a few minutes to collect ourselves.”

* * *

The moment Cas and Dean disappear Lucifer’s arm comes up on the backrest behind Sam and his fingers caress his neck under his hair. Sam shivers and gets goosebumps. “They might come back…” he says but closes his eyes and relaxes.

”Don’t worry, Sammy. They’ll be gone for at least five minutes. Cas has gone to calm your brother down.”

”I hope he manages to. I can’t believe how well you’ve behaved towards each other so far. It’s a friggin miracle.”

”Sammy. You’re insulting me. You think I can’t behave myself when I want to?” Lucifer sounds amused. Sam doesn’t open his eyes to check. It has been partly nerve wrecking, partly great, to hang out all four of them. 

”I’m more worried about Dean. He’s got such short temper.”

”This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

”Yes.”

”In that case, he’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

Sam snorts and smiles. “I hope so.” He opens his eyes and looks at Lucifer. “Hey Lucifer, I was thinking of something when you mentioned that Ruby OD’d. Do you know what became of Brady? We lost contact when they moved.”

”Yes. He’s married and working as a cop. No kids. And he broke contact with his family when they wouldn’t support his career choice.”

”Wow. I didn’t think he’d have the guts to rebel against his parents. He always wanted to become a cop, but his parents wanted him to become a doctor or something else they could brag about… Wait, he’s married?”

Sam can’t help feeling a sting of hurt that he wasn’t invited. They had been very close after all.

Lucifer smirk and raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Are you jealous of the wifey?” he teases.

”No! No. It’s just that… We were best friends. He could have invited me,” Sam sulks.

Lucifer sniggers. “You know why he didn’t invite you, Sammy. One look at you and he’d be under your spell again. It never broke, to begin with. You want to meet him? I’ll take you to him.”

”....No….” Sam says after a moment's hesitation and leaves it at that. Instead, he just focuses at the fingers on his neck, keeping his eyes closed and trusting Lucifer to keep watch for Dean’s return. Lucifer allows the silence to linger, scrapes his nails lightly in the nape of his neck and twirls a strand of Sam’s hair around a finger. Sam wants to protest when the hand disappears. He hears Lucifer start eating again and opens his eyes to see Cas and Dean coming back. They’re looking like they’re holding back giggles. Cas is good for Dean indeed, if he can talk his brother out of a rage fit with that much ease.

* * *

Cas, eating with his hands, proves to be a quick eater rather than taking his time as he usually does. He finishes first, washing his hands with the wet wipe and leans back contentedly, sipping his beer. They’re all interrupted in their meal when a girl in her early twenties approach their table. “Excuse me?” she says shyly. “You’re Lucifer Morningstar and Castiel Collins, right?”

Lucifer puts down his utensils and gives her a polite smile that just looks odd on his face to Dean. “Yes, we are, sweetheart.”

The girl lights up with a full body smile. “Oh my god! I’m such a huge fan! You guys were incredible in the last game! Especially you...” She goes from super excited back to shy and blushing crimson as she says that last thing, turned towards _Lucifer_. It eludes Dean how anyone can fawn over Lucifer when Castiel is nearby.

Lucifer keeps his indulgent smile towards her. “Thank you. Nice of you to say that. What’s your name?”

”M-Maria.”

”You’ve got your phone, Maria? You can take a picture if you want.”

The girl squees happily and digs her phone up. Lucifer swings his legs out from under the table and pats his legs. “Come here, sweetheart.” The girl looks like she’s going to die from either excitement or embarrassment over how excited she is when she sits down on his lap. Lucifer takes the phone from her and hands it to Castiel. “Collins will take it for you.” The girl nods, and Cas slips out of the booth and places himself in front of them while Lucifer hugs the girl with one arm (decently, up by the shoulders) and puts his head on her shoulder, smiling a close-lipped friendly smile for the camera. The girl looks absolutely ecstatic. Cas snaps a couple of pictures, goes to his knees with his back leaned towards the pair and snaps a selfie pic of the three of them, before handing the phone back and returning to his seat.

Dean’s baffled. His image of what Lucifer is like keeps getting jarred. The ongoing animosity between them has made him unable to think of Morningstar as anything other than a complete shithead at all times. Not that he had spent any time thinking about how Lucifer acts towards fans, but if he had, he would have pictured him to be rude and condescending. Not like this. 

Lucifer exchanges some words with the girl, gives her a hug and sends her on her way. Instantly she calls someone and they can hear her talking on the phone as she leaves the restaurant. “ _Oh my god! You can’t believe what just happened! Lucifer Mornin…”_

”She was cute. You should have taken her number, you would have gotten laid,” Dean says when she’s gone.

Lucifer gives him a disgusted look. “You sleep with all your fans, Winchester? One might think so, judging by that unsavory article about you.” Dean cringes, guilt blossoming inside. He steals a look at Cas but Cas is looking chastising at Lucifer. He doesn’t get the time to respond, though, before Lucifer continues. “I’m not interested in getting laid, not by fans or anyone else for that matter.”

”Not at all?” Dean asks, happy to not be forced to defend his own behaviour.

Lucifer shakes his head. 

”Huh. So you’re Ace? Or Demi?” Dean asks.

Lucifer tilts his head and looks at Dean with a questioning tiny frown that reminds him so much of Castiel’s confused squint, that they actually could be brothers for real. It’s uncanny.

”It’s interesting that you immediately jump to the conclusion that he’s asexual or demisexual, when so many people refuse to believe that is even something that exists,” Cas says with a tiny smile. Lucifer hums thoughtfully and leans back in his seat, following the conversation that ensues.

”Dean dated a girl for a while, who was Ace,” Sam says smiling.

”Yeah. Catherine. I really liked her.”

”Yeah, me too. She was nice,” Sam agrees.

”Obviously it didn’t work out?” Cas says, raising an eyebrow encouraging Dean to tell.

”Yeah, no shit,” Dean snorts in amusement and stuffs food in his mouth. “But it was worth a try, you know. She was worth it.” He chews his food and swallows before he goes on. “When I came on to her she already knew of me, of my reputation. She said from the start that she would be a waste of my time, since she was Ace. Now, I didn’t know what the fuck that was, but hey! I’ve got internet, right? So I did some research. And I thought, whatta fuck, why not give it a try? She was real nice, this girl. Special. So you know, I figured, I can live without sex, right?” He looks at Lucifer while he speaks, gesturing with his fork.

”No you can’t!” Sam laughs.

”Shut up, bitch! I’m trying to tell this story,” Dean says but grins all the same. “And I didn’t know that at the time.” He goes back to directing his attention to Cas and Lucifer. “Anyway, we started dating. She was okay with hand holding and leaning against me on the couch while we watched TV, but that’s about it. She was great in every other way. Funny, smart, charming, sexy. I felt like I could really talk to her, be myself, kinda. She had it all, and I had this romantic notion that it would be enough. And it was. For a while.”

Dean falls silent and stuffs the last of his food in his mouth. It’s a bit of a sad memory for him. But it was a long time ago and it had ended before he fell in love with her for real. Both Lucifer and Cas are really listening to him, their expressions are not giving much away but they are radiating open attentiveness, so Dean continues. “Okay, so from what I had gathered asexuality isn’t really a standard as such. Everyone has different degrees to how much physical contact they enjoy or can stand, right? Now me, I’m very physical. It doesn’t really matter if I know a person or not. Hence all my one night stands. But it goes for friendship too, you know? Like a slap on the back, or hugging after a goal or whatever. Catherine on the other hand, was the opposite. Maybe it would have worked out if she wasn’t, who knows? But I could sit with my arm around her and it was perfectly okay, but if I began stroking her arm, she’d tense up.”

”Yeah, and that was a problem for you. Don’t even pretend it wasn’t,” Sam says.

”No, it was. It really was. I _liked_ that girl. Like, _a lot_! I wanted to fuck her so badly it hurt. Hell, I wanted to make love to her even. So my sexual frustration started to spill over. We tried kissing, and you know, first base, but I could tell it grossed her out and that’s a huge turnoff. Thing is, just because she was Ace didn’t automatically mean she couldn’t fall in love. Then I couldn’t stand it anymore, because I’m telling you, it was fucking torture to be with someone I really cared for and lusted over, without being able to touch.”

Dean takes a swig of his beer, thinking of the events that unfolded. He can’t believe he’s telling _Lucifer_ all this. It’s fucking personal. Okay, Cas is listening too, but he is directing most of the story towards Morningstar. Maybe because of the admission that he has no interest in sex. Maybe because the impromptu blowjob he himself received recently muddled his brains or whatever. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. He might as well tell the rest.

”So. I couldn’t stand it and told her we couldn’t see each other anymore. But she was in love with me and didn’t want to lose me. So she told me I could have sex with other people as long as we stayed together. But I don’t work that way. I don’t cheat.”

”But if that was a sacrifice she was willing to make?” Lucifer asks. Dean shakes his head. “You don’t believe in making sacrifices in a relationship?” Lucifer persists, looking curious.

”Hell yeah, I do! That’s what you do when you care for people, you make sacrifices for them.” He grins at Lucifer. “Fuck, you and me, sitting at the same table, that’s a fucking sacrifice.”

Lucifer snorts and inclines his head as to concede to the point, humour sparkling in his ice blue eyes and a small smirk on his lips.

”Thing is, if I had taken her up on her offer I would have done so, knowing I hurt her doing it. I couldn’t do that.”

”That does you honour.”

Dean holds up his hand. “Oh no. Hold your applause, story is not done yet.” He takes another sip of beer. He’s rather ashamed of this part. “You gotta keep in mind that I was just a teenager. I had just turned 18 and started playing with the big boys, okay? On paper I might have been an adult but still just a high school dropout teenager in reality. And I didn’t want to fuck others because I wanted _her_. Barring that, break up was the only option. But then she offered herself. Said I could sleep with her from time to time if I really wanted to…” Dean shakes his head and scrapes with a nail on his bottle. ”And I said yes.”

”Yeah, and that’s where his _honour_ goes flying out the window,” Sam grins.

”Screw you, Sammy.” Dean gives him a kick under the table and Sam laughs at him. Dean turns to Cas and Lucifer again. “He is right, though. I had this notion I could make her like it, even if I had read it doesn’t work that way. But hey! I’m good in bed. I know that. Even then I knew that. So I figured that maybe... “ He shrugs. “The thing is, in the beginning she told me how it felt for her when someone touched her. How she felt sullied, itching under her skin, repulsed, nauseated, and violated. I should never have overstepped that line, but I did, and she tried acting as she was okay with it. First time I was drunk. Drunk enough to ignore how still and tense she was. She kept her eyes closed the whole time. She said things to encourage me, but it was just words. I lied to myself, telling myself she meant them. Second time…”

”Second time he barged out of his room and came crashing into the toilet to throw up! Only I was in the way so he threw up on me!” Sam laughs.

”It’s not funny,” Dean says, laughing too. He can’t help blushing. “I didn’t even realise you were on the toilet before I was leaning down to hurl!”

”It’s hysterical! He came crashing in, butt naked, stops in front of me, pukes all over me, and runs out again without a word!”

Both the Winchesters are cracking up and Cas and Lucifer are laughing too, but if it’s because they think it’s funny or because they’re laughing at the brothers remains unknown.

”You didn’t think it was funny then!”

”Hell no! It was gross! I was left sitting with my pants down, covered in vomit wondering what the hell just happened.” Sam grins at Dean. “But to be fair, that vomiting part kinda restores your honour.”

”What happened?” Cas asks.

Dean rubs his neck in embarrassment. “I was sober the second time I tried to have sex with her. And I couldn’t lie to myself about how she acted, even if she tried faking to be okay with it. The thought just struck me that I was raping her. Fuck the fact that she had said yes. I was fucking forcing myself upon her when she didn’t want to. And that made me ill. Literally. As Sammy got to experience firsthand.”

This time Cas and Lucifer both chuckle and look at Dean with a kind of softness in their eyes that is fucking disconcerting to be seen from Morningstar. A big part of Dean wants to rebel at that. He wants to keep hold of his image of Lucifer as the devil himself. 

”Anyway, so that’s how Sam and I know what being Ace is,” Dean continues. “I already know that you, if you are Ace, are not at the same level as Catherine, or that huggy thingie you did with the fan would have been out of the question. But are you?” Dean is actually curious about this. It’s hard to wrap his head around the concept of someone not wanting to have sex, ever. Even having met a person like that firsthand.

Sam is paying a great deal of attention to Lucifer now so he too must be just as curious about the concept. Lucifer leans his head back and strokes his chin thoughtfully while looking at Dean. It’s a personal question so Dean can totally get if he doesn’t want to share. Lucifer shrugs. “The terms you’re using are new to me. I’ve never considered how to label it. Maybe they apply, maybe not…” He smirks. “If you’re worried you’re going to miss out on our stoned cuddle session our brothers are threatening us with, you needn’t worry, though. Just keep your mouth to yourself and hands above the belt.” He winks at Dean and Dean can’t help but laugh.

”That was exactly what I was worried about, Luci.” Dean bats his eyelashes and almost jumps when Cas’ hand discreetly comes to caress his thigh as a reward.

* * *

After lunch they decide to go to Winchesters’ apartment to watch a movie. Dean puts up a token protest about Lucifer going with them but gets sidetracked when they stop at Bobby’s to return the firearms that don’t belong in the hidden compartment of the Impala. Then he and Lucifer get into a discussion about guns and the fucker really knows his stuff. What he has to say is fucking interesting and when they get into a discussion about the pros and cons of different explosives for different situations Dean allows Lucifer to come up or they’d have to stop talking about it. Dean doesn’t give a shit _why_ the creepy bastard knows the thing he does, he’s just happy to get to talk about it. He even learns a thing or two. So does Lucifer, it seems. 

They watch _Frozen_ because Cas is adorable and Dean is a pushover. It’s not his fault wingboy can pull puppy eyes to rival Sammy’s. Dean cries when the parents die and Lucifer is a douchebag who taunts him for it. Fuck him. And fuck Sammy too for ganging up on Dean with Luci. Cas cries about it too, but _he_ doesn’t get teased for it. Luci says it stopped being funny the fifth time Cas watched the movie. Dean thinks _that_ is hilarious. Later on, Cas manages to convince Dean to go with him to get pizza and restock beer. Dean doesn’t want to leave Luci and Sam alone, but Sam throws a fit about him not being a baby and Luci being Cas’ brother and is to be considered a friend. Luckily this fit takes place quietly while Lucifer is in the bathroom and Cas talks to Balt on the phone, so Dean doesn’t have to be embarrassed about giving in. It takes one hour to get the pizza. Mainly because they spend 45 minutes making out hot and heavy in the Impala. But hey! Cas can’t spend the night so no opportunities missed, right?

Cas fiddles with his phone when they park the car. When they come home Lucifer and Sam are in Sam’s room. They’re checking out Sam’s book collection. Who knew Major Douchebag was a reader? _“You don’t think I can read, Deanie?”_ Of course the guy can read! But Tolstoy in Russian? A bit of a surprise. What? Guns, explosives, and fluent in Russian? Dude some kind of spy or something? _”Close enough, Winchester.”_ Yeah, right. But apparently, so is Cas because he speaks Russian too, and that is all kinds of hot! They end up sitting in Sam’s bed eating pizza, drinking beer and trading travel related stories. Cas and Luci have been around. Luci (why the hell isn’t he bothered about being called that?! He is supposed to get pissed!) doesn’t talk as much as the rest of them, but the asshole is sharp of wit and tongue when he does. Dean is a bit unnerved by how he listens and observes. But the bastard is funny when he does speak. Not that Dean will admit that. Dean drives the Angels to the Garrison. Luci (Yeah, I’m gonna keep calling you that, so you can just suck it! Hah!) is equally unbothered by Dean’s beer consumption as Cas. Sam is happy when Dean comes home, so the ordeal of putting up with the bag of dicks today was worth it. Anything for Cas and Sam, right?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are the only alms I ask for...


	53. She'll be home in an hour...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 years ago Castiel's life came crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Minor character death  
> \- Grief/Hurt/Denial  
> \- depersonalisation  
> \- derealisation  
> \- Anxiety
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Flashbacks from Cas earlier years on request. I intended to only show how he connected with the _Porodica_ but as usual, I’m but a slave to my muse and she showed me more. I think maybe it’s for the best to get who he was then. This chapter may be confusing but that's a POV thing. 
> 
> I found the perfect music for this chapter while I was writing it and I listened to it on repeat for hours.  
> "[Tick of the clock - extended](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWD7k6TrJ-g)", by Chromatics. (YouTube link) Unfortunately, the extended version is no longer available. There's a link to the song on Spotify, inside the chapter where the song would start if this was a movie. ;) 
> 
> Once again, this is a chapter that I needed to divide into two. The next one is super hard to write, It's one third done but requires so much research.. :P
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**2005**

* * *

”How did it go?” Castiel asks, twining the phone cord around his finger.

”Perfect! I look beautiful in the costume. Laura is a design-wizard, you’ll look great in yours too, Clarence. I have them right here.” Meg’s voice shines with enthusiasm through the line. Cas smiles in spite of himself.

”I’m nervous, Meg. It feels so… I don’t know, wrong, almost? To compete without Father watching.” He lays down on the bed and looks at the clock ticking on the wall. His chest still aches every time he thinks about Father, but through it all, Meg had never faltered. When his father's sudden demise shook his world down to its foundation she’s been a haven of steadfast surety. She makes sure he eats, keeps his schedule, and holds him when he breaks down in tears.

”Don’t think about it. I’m sure he’s watching. And the next winter Olympics when we win the gold medal, he’ll look down on us from heaven and be proud.” 

”I don’t know what I would have done without you...”

”Don’t be dramatic, Castiel. I’ll always be there for you. You’re my little unicorn, remember?” Her voice is teasing but full of warmth that soothes Cas’ mind. This is his seventeenth year alive. The next year they’ll both be legal adults. Cas contemplates if he should ask her to marry him once he turns eighteen.

He chuckles. “Right. When will you be back?”

”I’ll be home in an hour, I just got into the cab.”

”Alright. See you soon. Love you.”

”I love you too, Clarence.”

* * *

[ **LINK TO SONG** ](https://open.spotify.com/album/3jhjdYoPh1IlRvrslbO2N7)

Cas walks restlessly from room to room in the huge house. Ill at ease. He goes into the dance studio and tries to exercise. Going through a couple of forms and katas. It’s useless. He keeps looking at the big clock on the wall, tracking the movement of the hand that shows seconds. Its ticking seems to fill up the room. He turns around facing the big mirror that takes up the whole wall but just keeps looking at the clock through it instead. Meg should have been at home an hour ago. He leaves the studio and goes downstairs to the library.

He reads. Tries to. The pendulum of the old mahogany cuckoo clock makes a clicking noise each time it swings. He realises he hasn’t read a line for the last 45 minutes. He’s been watching the pendulum. He rises from the chair and puts the book back. His stomach is clenching. He goes to the bathroom.

He has taken a shower and brushed his teeth. Now he’s just standing there gripping the porcelain basin. Through the mirror, he watches as the numbers on the LCD screen clock on the wall behind him shift each minute. The tap is leaking slightly. Dripping every other second. The sound of it grates. It’s almost four hours since he spoke to Meg. His palms are sweaty, he feels cold and slightly nauseated. He leaves the bathroom to get dressed.

The ticking clock in his room is so loud in his ears it seems to swallow up all other sounds. He dresses quickly and goes to the hallway. He paces back and forth, avoids looking at the digital clock on the wall. She is late. Time is important. They have schedules to keep. They need to eat before they go to bed. Why is she late?

He goes to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator and stares at the containers of food neatly marked “Castiel” and “Meg” along with what meal they represent. Thursday’s dinner should have been eaten by now, but the containers are still there along with their meals for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Delivery is made Sunday and Wednesday evenings. They never cook. The only thing Cas has ever needed to do himself is make coffee. A look at the kitchen clock ticking on the wall shows it’s 20:36. One hour and 36 minutes past dinner time. He’s not hungry. He closes the refrigerator and looks at the schedules kept on the outside with magnets. Every day laid out orderly. Time to get up, exercise, breakfast, study, planning, lunch, nap, exercise something else, free time, ice time, snack, study, dinner, free time, shower, bed. Not every day the same. Except there are always studies and exercise. The rest adapts to things needed to be done for competitions. The precise schedules go only for a fortnight, adjusted each week. Just like Father wanted it and kept it while he was alive. Time is important and is measured in when the next competition is. Birthdays and holidays hold no importance in the Novak household, they serve no purpose. Goals and purposes is the number one priority. The kitchen clock ticks so loudly Cas can’t stand it and returns to pace the hallway.

20:47 the doorbell rings. Cas goes to open it. His insides turn cold when he does. Outside there are two police officers with serious but kind expressions. Cas wants to slam the door in their faces.

”James Novak?”

”That’s me.”

”May we come in? We need to talk to you.”

”May I see your identifications?” he asks and they hold up their badges for him to inspect. His mouth has gone dry, his heart is beating rapidly. He stares at the badges without seeing. A knot in his stomach twists and turns. He steps out of the way to let them in. He feels cold. Fear tearing at him.

He leads the way to the kitchen. They sit down. The kitchen clock is ticking so loud it drowns out the sound of the chairs scraping when they’re pulled out. He waits, looking at the two police officers. One in his fifties and one around 25-27 perhaps. They look concerned.

The older man speaks up. “I have some very bad news to tell you,” he says, then pauses to let Cas prepare himself. Cas just waits. That coil of fear in his stomach twisting and turning. When he doesn’t say anything the officer goes on. “You’re listed as Meg Masters’ closest of kin, correct?”

Cas nods.

”I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but Meg was in a car crash earlier tonight, and she was killed.” 

Cas stares at the officer without comprehension. He shakes his head. “No. I just spoke to her, she’ll be home in an hour.”

 

_tick tick tick_

 

The officers look at him with pity and compassion in their eyes. “No, James. Meg is dead. The taxi she was riding in ….” He doesn’t hear anything after that. Just the ticking. Colour drains out of the world, turning everything gray.

 

_**TICK TICK TICK TICK** _

 

He sees himself sitting in the kitchen chair, he’s clasping his hands in his lap to hide the tremors. He’s pale, cold. His neck is clammy, he’s sweating and lightheaded. Nausea is threatening to make him rush to throw up. This is happening to someone else, not him. He can hear three voices but has no idea what they’re saying. One of those voices might be his, his vocal cords are moving, facial muscles engaging, posture adjusting. Lie to the judges. Show them what they need to see.

 

_“Listen carefully, Castiel. Being in control of ze body and ze mind is ze key to everyzing. With your mind, you control your muscles. If you control your muscles, every one of them, you can control how people respond to you. What you say is not of import, Castiel. It’s how you move your muscles in ze face and ze body when you say it. When you know what every movement means you can read other people’s mind too. Words lie. Ze muscles do not as much. Ze body language is ze most important language as it’s spoken by all. You must learn to lie with ze body. Winners know how to. Ordinary people do not. You and me, my son, we are not ordinary. You must learn to lie to ze judges to win.”_

_”Yes, Father.”_

 

_**TICK TICK TICK TICK** _

 

He comes back to himself partly. One of the officers is speaking. “It’s not good for you to be alone right now. Do you want us to call somebody?”

”No. Thank you for the kind inquiry, but I will have company soon.” His voice sounds foreign to him. He is not talking, so how can he hear his voice? He is numb all over. Not aware of what he is saying or doing.

He waves the officers goodbye and closes the door. How did he get there? The last thing he remembers is sitting with them at the kitchen table. He’s not sure what they wanted. They were just here for five minutes. The clock on the wall by the door shows 22:23. Where is Meg? She should have been home by now. He walks to the kitchen. There’s a paper on the table. He frowns and picks it up, reading.

 

_**TICK TICK TICK TICK** _

 

_Community Resource Information “What do I do now?” -- Basic information for survivors._  
_You may obtain copies of the death certificate from the funeral home._  
_You may obtain a copy of the autopsy report from…_

 

He trails off reading. There’s a list of phone numbers and names and whatnot concerning the death of Meg Masters. There are phone numbers to the funeral home, a priest, a help line, the officer that notified him, insurance company, a case file number. He doesn’t get it. Meg is not dead, Father is. He just spoke to Meg, she’ll be home in an hour. He puts down the paper and walks upstairs to her room. He sits on the bed.

 

_tick tick tick_

 

He uses the phone on her nightstand to call her. It’s an old thing. Grey with a rotary dial.

” _The number you have dialled cannot be reached, please hang up and try again,_ ” a female pre-recorded voice is saying. He hangs up. The world is gray. He can’t feel his limbs. Why did he call her? He just spoke to her, she’ll be home in an hour. He gets up from the bed and leaves her room.

He’s in his room, sitting on the floor and the door is closed. Apart from the clock ticking it’s silent. 16:57. Did he do something wrong? The walls are closing in, his heart rate is going up and it’s hard to breathe.

 

_tick tick tick_

 

Father must be punishing him for something, but he can’t remember what. Why else is he in here? What did he do? He can’t remember. If he can’t remember how can he contemplate it? His mouth is dry, there are no colours. His gut twists. Something is wrong.

 

_tick tick tick_

 

He gets up from the floor. He feels exhausted, his head swims, he feels weak and his stomach aches. The door is not locked, so he is not being punished. Father is dead.

 

_tick tick tick_

 

He exits the room. The house feels strange, empty. “Meg?” he calls out. No answer. His voice is rough, feels disused. “Meg, where are you?” No answer. He goes to her room, it’s empty save from the ticking of the clock. 

 

_tick tick tick_

 

He goes to the kitchen. There’s a paper on the table. Sweat breaks out when he sees it. His stomach churns. He ignores the paper and looks in the fridge. Thursday dinner and the meals for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. It’s not dinnertime yet. He goes to the library.

The phone wakes him up. A look at the clock, hard to see, his eyes are grainy. 14:03.

”Jimmy Novak speaking.”

”Hi, Jimmy, it’s Laura. I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?”

He frowns in confusion. He’s in Meg’s bed. The sheets smell of her, but only just. The scent is so faint. The smell of his own sweat is overtaking it. “Good, I guess?” His confusion carries over to his voice. “Did the fitting go well? Were there any problems? Meg said it went well. I just spoke to her, she’ll be home in an hour if you need to speak to her.” He rubs his eyes. He is soo very tired. It’s hard to move his arms.

Silence over the phone line. A long silence. Cas wonders if the line died. “Jimmy…?” When Laura’s voice comes again it’s hesitant and worried. “Jimmy, Meg died a week ago.”

”No, no. Father died. I just spoke to M…” he trails off. _’May we come in? We need to talk to you. I have some very bad news to tell you. You’re listed as Meg Masters’ closest of kin, correct? I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but Meg was in a car crash earlier tonight, and she was killed.’_ He hangs up. He can’t feel his limbs.

 

_**TICK TICK TICK TICK** _

 

He’s in the kitchen. There’s a paper upside down on the table, he doesn’t look at it. He has no recollection of what he was doing before or why he’s in the kitchen. He feels so weak and soo, soo very _tired_. He’s cold and numb. He’s not real. It feels like he’s walking in a dream, he hardly recognises his surroundings. He knows it’s his home, but it feels like this is the first time he has been here. Why is he in here? He looks at the clock. 07:34. Breakfast. It’s late. They’re off their schedule. He opens the fridge. Something is wrong. There are meals for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, but only his. Only ones marked “Castiel”.

He frowns, gut twisting. “Meg, they’ve forgotten to deliver your food!” he calls out. No answer. Is she not home? He wonders what day it is. By all fairness, it should be Monday judging by the meals, but he’s not sure. There’s no newspaper on the table. There should be. He can go get the newspaper to see what day it is. A sense of urgent panic starts to steal over him. He rushes to the entrance and out of the door, not bothering with shoes. The gravel cuts his feet when he runs. He doesn’t care. He stops by the big pompous mailbox and fumbles the backside of it open. A drove of newspapers and mail fall out on the ground, some still wedged in the slit on the front. He starts shaking. He can’t breathe. The traffic light by the crosswalk nearby makes a ticking noise.

Voices buzz in his head. _May we come in? We need to talk to... How are you holding up? I have some very bad news to tell you. Jimmy, Meg has been dead for a week. You’re listed as Meg Masters’ closest of kin, correct? The service will be held at… I’m really sorry to have to tell you this… Master Novak, I know I’m speaking out of terms, but you’ve got to eat. Me and the rest of the staff are worri… Meg was in a car crash earlier tonight, and she was killed. I’ve called and cancelled the… Hey Jimmy, you didn’t turn up at… My condol… Meg’s death must be.. Car crash… Meg died in… Died on impact… Dead…_

He passes out.

 

_tick tick tick_

 

There’s a drip attached to his arm and the smell of disinfectant and latex sting in his nose. The hospital gown is scratchy. He becomes aware of sound first. The ticking of a clock, and people talking. His own voice. He feels disoriented. Somebody is using his body and voice to talk for him. He’s sitting up on a hospital bed speaking with a doctor. Apparently, he is malnourished and needs to eat more. He needs to tell Meg to remind him of that.

”How are you sleeping?” the doctor asks.

How is he sleeping? He doesn’t know. Awareness comes in short bursts and it’s like walking in a dream. But his mouth opens and answers without asking him first. “I’m not, doctor. I can’t sleep. I try to but my body won’t shut down. The few hours I get only when I pass out.” Muscles in his face engage on their own behalf, forming a rueful smile, then shift to something pleading. “Could you give me something that will make me sleep?”

”Of course. I’ll write prescriptions for sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medicines. On top of that, I want you to buy these nutrition supplements. I know what you said, but you should really consider taking anti-depressants. We’ll discuss that on your check up next week. You were really lucky the neighbours found you, you know? A bit longer and your organs might have started shutting down.” 

 

_tick tick tick_

 

He’s alone at home. He goes into the studio to work out and startles when he sees someone else in there with him. A boy his age. “What are you doing in here? How did you get in?” The boy frowns in confusion at him and tilts his head, squinting. He steps closer, so does the boy. The boy's clothes hang from his frame, his cheeks are sunken in under dark stubble, his eyes are tired and he’s so dark underneath, it almost looks like he has been hit and gotten black eyes. The hair is dirty and hangs down in his face. “Are you okay?”

Then the pieces fall into place and he has to run out of the dance studio to the bathroom where he promptly vomits. He gets up on shaky legs and with dread filling him walks to the sink and looks in the mirror. The strange boy stares back at him, gaunt, hollow, dirty, and tired. Looking like a walking dead. Dead. Meg is dead. She will never ever come home. This house is haunted and he is the ghost. He died in a car crash one month ago. Time has no meaning any more. All these clocks ticking all over for nothing. The mere thought of stepping onto the ice without Meg, without Father watching, makes him nauseated. His whole life has been controlled, working towards a goal. There was a purpose. Every day measured in minutes. No rest and no play. Now he is dead, without a purpose. He does not want to be dead. He wants Meg back. She is gone forever. The grief he feels is physical. He cries on the bathroom floor curled in fetal position, screaming “NONONONOOO!” Claws at himself and rocks himself. There’s no one left to comfort him, no one to hear him. He passes out of exhaustion after an hour.

When he wakes up on the cold tiles he knows what he has to do. There’s a ball of anger in his gut, eating at him. He inherited a fortune and this house from Father. Ten rooms, including a library, dance studio, gym, indoor pool and a huge garden. Servants that take care of the property, clean and do laundry. But he can’t stay. If he stays he’ll go mad. This house is dead. He longs to be home, but this is no longer a home. He showers and shaves. Brushes his teeth. He gets dressed and packs a backpack with some clothes, his sleeping pills, the anti-anxiety medicine, toothbrush, and a comb. He hides a photo of Meg inside the fodder of his combat boots. He takes the cash he has at home and leaves the house, not even bothering closing the door. James “Jimmy” Novak died a month ago. Castiel has a purpose and a home somewhere else. Now he just needs to find out where. He is numb and angry, everything is gray. The traffic light ticks when he passes it on the crosswalk.

_tick tick tick_

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

A poke in the ribs wakes him up. He ignores it, hoping it will go away. No such luck. The poking resumes, more incessant this time.

”Yoo _hooo_. Oh, _Caaaassie_. I _know_ you’re awake. Rise and shine!”

”I hate you. You’re evil and were put on this earth to torture me. Go _away_ , Luci!” Cas remains still with his eyes closed, trying really hard to let sleep reclaim him, ignoring the sniggering from above. His alarm hasn’t gone off which means it’s still too early. And when his alarm is set to go off is _also_ too early anyway.

* _poke, poke_ *

Annoying, but ignorable. Castiel burrows into his pillow. But then Lucifer ruffles his hair. He _hates_ when people ruffle his hair! Cas turns around and swats at Lucifer who jumps away laughing. Cas remains sitting up, glaring darkly and bleary-eyed at what must be accounted for as evil incarnated at this hour. Lucifer holds out a large Starbucks paper cup at Cas from an arm's length away. Cas glares at the cup, back at Luci, and at the cup again. Lucifer does an encouraging gesture with the cup, urging Cas to take it. “That’s a meager peace offering for this ungodly hour,” Cas states.

”It’s the only one that _wo_ -orks,” Luci sing-songs.

Cas snags the cup from Luci and sniffs it. Coffee, sweetness ( _caramel?_ ), cinnamon. He feels partly placated and takes a sip. “What time is it?”

”5:30,” Lucifer smirks, eyes full of amusement. He’s keeping his distance, well aware that if he’s going to poke the bear he should use a long stick.

Good thing he does or Cas might not have held back on the impulse to throw the coffee in his face. “The plane doesn’t leave until 9, Luci.”

”We’re not going. The other team left walkover.”

Now that is news. “Oh? Why?”

”There’s a virus. The city is quarantined. Got the message 30 minutes ago.” Lucifer makes a dismissive gesture.

”What is it this time? We’ve already got the bird flu, the swine flu, the mad cow disease. Which animal did they choose to pin it on now?” Cas asks and sips his coffee, contemplating laying down again.

”No animal. They call it the ‘croatoan virus’,” Luci says with a shrug.

Cas looks down at his mug and chuckles. “What? They’ve all turned into bloodthirsty, mad killers all the sudden?” Sensing a shift in the room he looks up to see Luci staring at him with sharp eyes and brows drawn into a slight frown. Cas waves his hand. “Nevermind, a private joke, I suppose. So. If we’re not going, why am I not sleeping?” he says, raising an eyebrow in question and sipping his coffee.

Lucifer’s features smooth out and amusement is back in his gaze. “You and me are going sparring in the gym.” He grins, looking excited.

Cas groans. “And we couldn’t do that later because…?”

”Because I’d like to use the gym, but I prefer not having an audience that can gauge my skill so if we do it later we’d have to use my quarters.”

Cas yawns, stretches, and sighs. “Fair enough.” He drains the remaining coffee. “If you can just get me anot―” he trails off when Luci picks up another paper cup from the desk behind him and holds it out to Castiel, winking. “Well, that settles it then,” Cas says, accepting the new coffee cup.

* * *

80 minutes later they’re warmed up and going at it. Cas’ excitement is soaring, adrenaline mingles with the endorphins his body’s pumping out to dull the pain from an assortment of new bruises. Luci fights dirty, but so does Cas. Only holding back enough not to cause worse than superficial damage and letting up as soon as the light tap comes. Cas hasn’t had the chance to fight in a friendly manner many times since after his father died and he no longer practised martial art in dojos. This, what Luci and Cas are doing, is a fighting style adapted for survival, not for show and honorable competition. This is being alive. The thirst not to hold back is nudging in the back of Castiel’s mind. Easily ignored due to the happiness he feels being able to loosen reins held tightly for months. Definitely worth getting up bloody early in the morning for. He can see that Lucifer’s enjoying himself too. They are wrung out, panting, sweaty, and red-faced, definitely pushing the limit of how much they can rough each other up. Evenly matched too. 

Cas’ head is caught is a death grip, Luci twisting and Cas going with it not to get his neck broken, it tips him down to the ground where the grip is loosened not to take Luci down too. Luci’s fist comes flying, Cas parries, gets a kick in on Luci’s chest that sends him flying, but he gets a grip on Cas’ foot and twists, using his momentum and body weight to force Cas to spin or break his foot. Luci lets go the moment the action would have actually harmed Cas and they both roll to their feet in a fighting stance, panting. The doors of the gym creaks and Luci immediately straightens up, Cas following his lead.

”I’d say that’s our cue, little brother,” Luci says, fight-face falling off and a smile replacing it.

Cas returns his smile and leans down, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. Real street fights are fast, messy things, often over in minutes, sometimes seconds. Many times the winner is the one who hits first. A drawn out melee like this is rare out in the real world. His whole body is screaming in protest at the exertion now when it’s over. They have definitely been overdoing it. Possibly both of them because of the joy of finding an equal and being curious about the other one’s skill.

They stretch and hit the locker room where Gadreel, Ephraim, and Zack are currently changing clothes for a morning workout. Raphael had informed the rest of the team of the W.O. so the mood is high. As Cas and Luci shower, Cas can’t help but wonder how his teammates can choose not to stay in bed when nobody is forcing them to rise. Dean is also one of those odd people. If he isn’t hung over he is something of an early bird. It’s just weird. Afterwards, Cas follows Luci up to his quarters and sits down by his desk to go through the sports news while Luci nips down to the kitchen to get them some food.

* * *

Luci comes up with two plates of toasts with egg and bacon. Entering his apartment he hears Castiel talking on the phone.

” _....Don’t be bothersome. I cannot help if you keep lying to me. It took me long enough to figure it out, but at lunch yesterday you might as well have screamed it at me. …..No…. It’s the name, assbutt! Always the name. They’re conceited enough to rub it in. ….What is it you don’t understand? It’s obvious. ...Filiusdei, Sin-Božji....It only took me this long to catch on because I didn’t expect... What? ….Fine. We’re not done talking about this. Give Dean my regards. Bye, Sam._ ”

Lucifer’s heart starts racing. Castiel has come to fill the spot of a brother with ease. The more Luci learns about him the more it’s like getting a daily birthday-present. The unquestioning obedience when it counts, the sass when it doesn’t. The vast knowledge of languages, the conning skills, and now the fighting skills. And all the little things he did without being asked to, just jumping to conclusions and acting on it like he had read Lucifer’s mind. Yesterday when Cas had coaxed Dean away to get pizza to give Luci and Sam a moment to themselves, then sending a text message saying “We’re parking. Up in a minute,” to give the two a chance of not being caught doing something un-Dean-approved, is just one example of many. The overheard conversation may mean the end to all that.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!


	54. Tumbleweed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has been adrift for two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Cas/Others (pre-Dean)  
> \- Autassassinophilia  
> \- Drug abuse  
> \- Immoral/illegal behaviour  
> \- depersonalisation  
> \- derealisation
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Okay, first of all, the last chapter is why I need your comments. I didn't even realise how much of a cliffhanger the ending of the last chapter could be perceived as until you started to point that out. I've rearranged this upcoming chapter and the next so I'm going to leave you hanging a while longer. This is not to be mean, it's to tie things more neatly together later on. Instead, you'll get to see Cas as he was about 6 years ago. He is not the same person then and now.
> 
> I did a tremendous amount of research for this chapter and ended up using very little of it because it wasn't important to the plot. Any inaccuracies about Russia I blame on this being an AU. There's a Russian sentence in this chapter that I didn't translate due to Cas' brain not being up to the task, and since he doesn't understand it - neither do you (unless you actually do). But feel free to cut and paste into google translate. ;) And I'm not talking about "Good evening." (which I didn't translate either, it's just to show that Cas switched language, if nothing else is stated, assume he speaks the native language or the language of the person he talks to.)
> 
> Also, let us take a moment to appreciate the many faces of Misha Collins shall we? ^^
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**PROBABLY 2007...**

* * *

Everything is gray, colour just comes in short flashes. Always that ball of ice-cold anger curling in his stomach, or if the anger fades, pain caused by his loss. Time holds no meaning. Life has turned into an endless row of snapshots, _snap, snap, snap_. An endless search for the right scent. He hates waking up. Hates the feeling of realisation as consciousness floods him, chasing away dreams and replacing them with hard facts. Father and Meg are gone. Everything that once was his life is gone and he has no purpose. There is no point. None. Just endless days, the constant ticking of a clock somewhere, and memories coming unbidden.

****** _SNAP_ *********

Sound comes first. A clock ticking somewhere. This time accompanied by a drip. Leaking faucet? No. Too hollow and a slight ring to it. A metal bowl collecting the heavy drops from a leaking roof. Soft exhales and snores. Something creaking. The sound of bodies shifting in sleep.

Then comes scent. Rancid perfume and cologne. Latex (Yuck!), sweat tanged with residue of alcohol, his own and others’. A very faint scent of soap, rose and violet, pleasant. Stale beer, not so pleasant. Wood. Detergent. The scent of sex is heavy in the air. The sweet smell of powder, moderately pleasant. He’d like the scent more if it didn’t cover up the natural scent of skin. Mould. Mouldy fabric and mouldy wood. His brain catalogues it all in a beat.

Sensation is next. His body aches, he is trapped. Somebody’s elbow pokes into his ribs. His head rests against the softness of someone’s stomach. Legs and arms thrown over him. Body heat all around. He enjoys that. A faint throbbing behind his temple courtesy yesterday’s indulgence. A vaguely detached feeling, like his head is not really hooked into reality. Whatever kind of pill he took yesterday, it is to blame. On the question “Do you want some?” he had just opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting the man place it straight into his mouth. He rarely bothers to ask what he is given. It was a pleasant trip. He came alive, the gray faded. The detached feeling is a residual effect he can live with.

He opens his eyes. He is lying on a mattress on the floor of an abandoned building with a leaking roof. One girl acts as a pillow, another one lies to his left with an arm and a leg over him. They are both naked. To his right a black man in his late twenties sleeps, only wearing a yellow T-shirt, arm and leg curled possessively over Cas. Castiel smirks. The man liked to watch. _”Don’t touch me, pal. I’m not into guys. That is disgusting.”_ He meant it too. He only wanted to watch Cas fuck the two girls, jerking off to the sight of Cas taking them apart. _Challenge accepted._

That was three days ago. Yesterday he had been begging Cas to fuck him.

Cas turns to his side and kisses the man’s neck, bringing him to wakefulness.

”Perry?” the man says, blinking and then smiling as he looks up at Cas.

”Yes,” Cas answers. “I’m heading out. I want a blowjob before I go.” 

The man chuckles and gazes at him adoringly. “Always so domineering, Perry.” He leans in and kisses Cas, ignoring morning breath, then rolls up on hands and knees to crawl down and obliges Castiel’s request. He is no expert by all means (three days prior he was convinced he was totally straight, which is a good enough reason for inexperience), but his mouth feels good as he takes Cas in, working him to erection.

_That’s it, my yellow minion, I’m your god, dance to my tune._

Cas strokes the smooth dark crown of the man’s shaved head. The girl to his left remains dead to the world, snoring softly, but his ‘pillow’ stirs when Cas moans and begins lazily carding her hands through his hair. It doesn’t take long before he is built up enough to come, but he holds back. It’s about control. He is in control of his body and the man working his cock. As far as he is concerned, he’s sated just by the fact that the previously unwilling man is going down on him. That’s the heady part, the turn on. Just like making him beg for it yesterday was.

He lets the man go on a couple of minutes before he rewards the man’s efforts by coming. Playing fair this time, by warning him so he can pull off. Yesterday the man gagged on the come and spit it out, gargling with vodka afterwards, not giving Cas a chance to enjoy the taste from his mouth. Even in release, Cas has control. Sex is never like it was with Meg. The feelings he had for her made all the difference, heightened the pleasure. Nowadays, it’s more a mechanical matter, it rarely gives the rush he is constantly chasing. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy it. He’s come to love seeing his partner or partners fall apart under his fingers. And he loves the control he has. Even when he acts in a submissive role, he does so manipulating his partner. He has no hang-ups when it comes to sex that might be seen as degrading towards himself if he’s in the mood for it. He rarely bottoms if he's with a guy, though. And if he does, he only does it from the top. He is not a guy you fuck. Sex, apart from being a tool, is something he indulges in a lot. Not for the release, but for the feeling of body heat, being touched, the scent of skin and sweat. He craves that so much more. Sometimes he can’t stand people but loathes to wake up alone nonetheless.

Cas pulls the man up for a kiss, tasting himself in his mouth. No come, though. A shame. “Thank you. Go back to sleep.”

”Mmmh. Sure. When will you be back?” The man smiles and lays back down while Cas sits up and untangles himself from the sleeping girl.

”Don’t know. Don’t worry about it.” He won’t be back. He knows that already. But the man is reassured by the last kiss he places on his temple before he rises. 

Cas throws on what clothes he can find―none of it his own except for the combat boots―and leaves the building. He walks, choosing his direction randomly. There’s a restless itch, and a ball of cold anger in his gut driving him on. After two hours he finds himself on a suburban block. Houses with neatly cut lawns in equally neat rows. He chooses one house just as randomly as he chooses his path, and rings the doorbell. When nobody opens, he goes around to the kitchen door and peeks inside through the glass panes in the door. It’s dark inside. He looks around, heart rate going up, getting an adrenaline boost. The coast is clear. Quickly he smashes the lower corner glass pane and reaches in to turn the lock. Opening the door, entering and closing it again. The world is in colour, he is alive.

”Hello? Anyone home?" No answer. The kitchen smells pleasantly of coffee and freshly baked bread. A quick survey of the house reveals it’s empty. Back in the kitchen, he checks the schedules on the fridge. Two high school kids. He has to look at the newspaper on the table to know what day it is. He looks at the schedules again to see what times corresponds to that day. None of the kids ought to be home for hours unless they cut class. A clock is ticking, he locates it on the wall and removes its batteries. Always with that clock. The sound of time ticking by haunts him. He clears up the broken glass inside the kitchen door and finds a piece of cardboard in the trash, he uses it to cover the hole in the pane.

In the living room, he puts on the television.

******* _SNAP_ ********

“No Castiel. Television is for ze dumb. Books are for intelligent people, like yourself.”

”But why, Father?”

”It’s just fantasy, not real. It dulls ze mind. Ze mind is where excellence is born.”

****** _SNAP_ *********

Endless snapshots of memories triggered by mundane tasks, he never knows how old he is in each memory. Time has no meaning. Putting the television on is on top of the list of things to do when entering a motel room or a house. He will watch anything. Right now, though, he has another order of business. Up the stairs and into the bathroom. There is still a residue of moisture in the air. The scent of cologne, perfume, hairspray, and toothpaste linger. The family didn’t leave long ago. He sheds his clothes and throws them in the laundry basket. Takes a shower. There’s a multitude of shampoos and shower gels, everyone in the family has their own preferences. He hesitates between the gel smelling of strawberries and the one with the masculine scent. Regretfully he chooses the latter. It’s the tactical choice to blend in. Steps out and towels himself dry with a random towel that’s still partly wet from the last use. Brushes his teeth with a randomly chosen toothbrush. Shaves his scruff off, leaves a goatee.

Heads to the master bedroom, finds underwear and socks in the dresser, looks through the wardrobe. Dresses, suits. The suits are nice. Tries a few on until he finds one he likes. Not a perfect fit, but passable. Adds a tie. Back to the bathroom to fix his hair, neatly combed back. It’s long, nearly to his shoulders. Finds a small hairband that he uses to make a ponytail. ‘Perry’ is no more, now he’s ‘Aaron’ should anyone ask. Goes through the cabinet. Finds some decent painkillers that he pockets. Puts his combat boots back on. They don’t match the suit but he doesn’t care. 

He goes through the rooms on the top floor. In the master bedroom, he finds a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a nice watch that he takes. In the teenage boy’s room, he strikes jackpot in a box under the bed. Some unknown pills, and weed. The girl’s room and the office yield nothing. The doorbell rings. Heart rate spikes, another moment in colour. He heads downstairs and opens the door. Schools himself to look at ease. It’s a DHL delivery guy.

”Package for James Carter?”

He takes it and signs with the intended recipient's name, thanks the guy, and puts the package on the kitchen table. Scavenges the fridge and pantry. Makes coffee and a couple of sandwiches. Uses the last of the milk and writes ‘milk’ on the grocery list on the fridge. Eats in front of the TV while watching reruns of _Married with Children_. Takes his plate and cup back to the kitchen and does the dishes, including the dishes already in the sink. Cleans up the rest of the kitchen while he’s at it. Then he leaves the house, popping one of the pills he found as he goes. 

******* _SNAP_ ********

He’s been looking for a mark for about thirty minutes. Not really knowing what he’s looking for until he sees her through the window of the fancy hotel bar. She looks Slavic, high cheekbones and bleached hair. Bedecked in jewelry and a mink fur. The stench of money oozes around her in every move and gesture she makes. She’s talking on her phone. He enters the hotel, catches her saying a few phrases in Russian before she hangs up. He goes to stand beside her in the bar, flagging down the bartender for a beer. An old mahogany grandfather clock is ticking by the wall. He smells her perfume, heavy and cloying. An expensive brand. The smell of old cigarette smoke lingers in the bar. He pulls an ashtray towards him and lights up a cig. He feels her watching and turns his head to meet her gaze.

”Добрый вечер,” he greets her and is rewarded with a surprised smile. He offers her a cigarette, she takes it and lets him light it for her. The ice is broken. Her eyes rove up and down his body, and he can see she likes what she sees. She wears a lot of makeup and looks younger than she is. He believes she has had some plastic surgery done. She looks around thirty, but he guesses her actual age the to late thirties/early forties. He presents himself as Stanislav Paskov, nicknamed Vanya. When she asks how old he is he glances at the newspaper the other patron in the bar is reading, looks at the date in the top corner. Two years since he lost everything. This is the year he turns 19. He says he’s 27.

Her name is Tatjana. She is a 43-year-old Russian widow that has more money than should be legal and wears too much perfume. He tells her some bullshit story about being cheated by a business partner, being left broke and not knowing what to do next. He makes love to her that night. They drink champagne and eat chocolate dipped strawberries in the jacuzzi in her suite. She convinces him to stay with her for a couple of days, just like he planned for her to do. Days turn into weeks. There’s something ticking in the suite. It’s coming from the wall, not a clock, but ticking away all the same. She likes to spoil him. She takes him to the theatre, to musicals, to the opera, and the ballet. He loves that. She buys him tailored clothes and shoes to go with them. His beloved boots are put in the back of the wardrobe. They go dancing. Eat at fancy restaurants. She likes gold. She buys him a thick gold chain and a big gold watch that he wears for her sake. It ticks, gray seconds steadily passing. He thinks she would dip him in gold if she could. He tells her he loves her while they make love. He thinks of Meg, a ball of ice in his chest, insides burning painfully from grief, outside smiling warmly with adoring eyes, engaging the right muscles to convince.

******* _SNAP_ ********

“But, Father, she is _horrible_! Why does she have to come live with us? Can’t we find someone else?”

”No, Castiel. She is ze best in your age. We work only with ze best! To be excellent you need to use ze brain. See what will gain you your goal and use anyzing or anyone to achieve it! Winning is ze only zing that matters. And my son is a winner. Be polite to her when she comes.”

”Yes, Father.”

******* _SNAP_ ********

“Hello, Clarence.” _Pigtails and smirks._

”My name is Castiel.” _Resentment._

”Whatever you say, Clarence. Looks like we’re going to be bunkmates from now on.”

******* _SNAP_ ********

Tatjana’s perfume grates on his nerves and stings his nose. Restlessness and anger keep nudging him to leave. She buys him a Lamborghini. He stays. He drives it daily at top speed. Life is in colour and he feels alive when he does. Taking curves too sharply, skirting around death with a mocking grin on his face, an expression that is his own. The adrenaline rush is great and the anger temporarily disappears. When he parks he’s in a state of slight euphoria and immense arousal. He stays away as long as it lasts. Smokes a couple of cigarettes and waits for the erection to die down, feeling content. Feeling like he is _Castiel_. No matter how aroused he is at that moment he does not go back to Tatjana to fuck. This is too private. He doesn’t want to share this. To her, he is Vanya―he does not want to give her Castiel. The glow never lasts long before everything fades to gray again.

Tatjana is a beautiful woman. He enjoys her the most when she is totally naked. No makeup on to hide her age. No perfume to hide her scent. Sleeping next to him when the ticking noise in the wall haunts him. When they’ve been together a month she asks him to come back to Moscow with her. He parks his Lamborghini in a bad part of town, leaving the keys in the ignition. He’d be surprised if it was still there the next morning. He goes with her to Russia.

* * *

**THE FACELESS MAN**

* * *

******* _SNAP_ ********

Sound comes first. A clock ticking to his left. A ceiling fan rotating slowly. Frank Sinatra singing at a low volume in another room. “ _...Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today…._ ” Good for him. Somebody moving in the room, humming along. Tatjana.

Then comes scent. Perfume almost drowning out everything else. Old cigarette smoke. Furniture polish. The detergent is sweet and flowery. Pleasant. Sweat clinging to his skin and soaked into fabric. Also pleasant.

Sensation is next. Softness and warmth surrounding him. The down comforter on top of him heavy over his back in a good way. He has no purpose. Anger unfurls in his stomach. He’s tired. Somebody needs to take the batteries out of that clock to make it stop ticking. His bones ache. Sleep is a rare commodity these days. He groans.

The bed dips. Tatjana lays down beside him and kisses him between the shoulder blades where the comforter doesn’t cover them. Her perfume sticks to the bedding and stings his nose. ”Мне не жить Без твоей любви, Ангел мой,” she says tenderly. His brain refuses to translate, fighting to drag him back to sleep. He grunts noncommittally. She giggles and ruffles his hair. He wants to slap her or break her fingers. Both. Her perfume sticks to his hair. He feels nauseated. His brain feels like sludge, kicking into gear slowly. “I need to go away over the weekend,” Tatjana says, his brain finally starting to translate. 

”What day is it?” His voice comes out gruff and raspy from disuse and too much smoking.

”Thursday. I’ll be back on Monday. Go back to sleep, my sun, I’ll see you then.” She kisses the crown of his head. He lets sleep reclaim him.

She is gone when he wakes up again. The world is still gray, Meg is still dead, the clock is still tick-tocking away on the bedside table. He sits up and stares at it, follows the path of the hand showing seconds for seven turns around the face of the clock. Then he picks the clock up and hurls it as hard as he can at the wall. It shatters. Blessed silence. He wishes he was asleep. He wishes he was home. He has no home. Home is where the heart is and his heart stopped beating two years ago. He has no heart. There is no purpose to life. He has no goals. He wants to cry but finds only numbness inside. He looks down at his hands. They are not his, they belong to a stranger, somebody he doesn’t know. Like watching hands on TV. He lifts an arm and bites himself hard on the forearm, just to see if he can feel. Pain. But the pain feels distant too, not his own. He wonders if it’s all a dream, if he hasn’t woken up yet. He hopes that’s the case, that would mean there is an end to all this. 

He spends the morning and early afternoon wandering in Moscow. The red square is a disappointment. St. Basil’s Cathedral is beautiful, so are the other buildings around it, but he expected it to be bigger somehow. Moscow is a city of contrasts. Beautiful old buildings, impressive new ones, then just a side street away houses with crumbling facades dirtied by accumulated smog and street dust. There’s questionable wiring alongside the outside of some buildings. He stops in Gorky Park. Not resting, just stops. Can’t find a reason to move forward or backwards. He feels hollow, invisible, numb. Both physically and emotionally. His heart is beating fast, his breathing is shallow. He’s got pins and needles in his arms and legs. Nobody sees him, people passing by, but nobody _sees_ him. He is dead and caught in limbo. A dream he can never wake up from. Encased in a bulb of glass he can’t reach through, can’t be reached. He wonders if he truly exists or if he’s just a half-formed thought in someone’s mind.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there. At least an hour, possibly more. The sun is beating down hard, not a single cloud in the sky, but for him everything is gray and he feels cold and clammy.

”Why are you sad?” a small voice says from his side. 

He turns his head and looks down. A small girl about four years old is looking up at him with big curious brown eyes. “What makes you think I’m sad? Do I look sad?” he asks.

The girl shakes her head. “No. No but you feel sad.” The girl has a lollipop in her mouth and a doll under her arm.

He considers this. “I’m sad because I am not real anymore,” he answers at last.

The girl nods sagely. “That would make me sad too,” she says. “When I’m sad I get happy again when I get candy. Do you want mine?” She takes the lollipop out of her mouth and offers it to him.

”That’s very kind of you.” He squats down beside her and takes the lollipop. “Thank you," he says and pops the drooly lollipop in his mouth. It tastes like cherry, the sky is blue and the girl is sweet. He smiles at her. 

”You wanna play with Nina and me?" she says and holds up the doll. He does indeed want to do that. His smile gets wider, a warmth spreading inside. She _sees_ him. 

******* _SNAP_ ********

_Castiel stands looking into the window of the toy store. He does not know how old he is because Father hasn’t told him what date he is born. There’s a sign in the window saying_ ‘Most popular toys of the Year’ _There are action figures of Batman and the Riddler, Buzz Lightyear and whatever that cowboy is called from Toy Story. Power Rangers. Pogs. Stuffed animals. He wants them all. Faintly he remembers having toys when they lived with his mom still. Mostly he remembers the stuffed dragon. Soft fur and forest green back with orange and red fire in his mouth. It was as big as he was and when his parents told him to go to bed he took it with him. He kissed it goodnight every night. On the soft fire rather than the head, pretending it would warm him, that he was immune because the dragon was a fierce, dangerous creature, but his friend and therefore wouldn’t harm him. He no longer remembers what his mother looks like, but he remembers the dragon. It got left behind as Father only approves of sports-related toys like balls. He has no time for ‘mindless’ play anyway. He wonders what the dragon would look like if it was a boy just like him. Would they still would be friends if he was? There’s no time for friends. Father knocks his cane on the ground and calls his name, breaking him out of his reverie. Time to go buy new skates._

******* _SNAP_ ********

A woman comes rushing and picks the girl up, giving Cas an angry scowl when she walks away, scolding the little girl for talking to strangers. The girl waves goodbye to Cas who waves back. He hears the girl patiently explain to her mother that she doesn’t have to be angry because the man isn’t real. It’s Thursday and he misses a toy dragon long since lost. He starts walking again, chuckling to himself and rolling the cherry lollipop back and forth in his mouth, knocking it against his teeth. The flavour is heavily artificial, the scent of it fills his nostrils from the inside. It’s a good scent, he decides. He puts it on his list of favourite scents, along with gasoline, sweat, skin, fallen pine needles warmed by the sun, and many more. 

He talks to people. Everywhere he goes, he talks. Men, women, children. Gives a new name if prompted to introduce himself, gives different ages if asked. He hasn’t said his own name aloud in years. Sometimes he uses James or Jimmy. But Father and Meg used Castiel, the name he thinks of as his. He buys a pack of cigarettes. Wanders past an old school and notices an old man sitting on a bench outside. He meanders over and offers the man a cig. They strike up conversation as Cas sits down. The old man is a teacher in the school. He has lived in this neighbourhood all his life. Cas asks him about the school, gets him to tell about specific events that have happened here, but in a personal way. Listens to stories about the neighbourhood. They share the whole packet of cigarettes before Cas says his goodbyes. 

Cas buys a pair of jeans, and an Adidas sweater without a hood. He buys a second-hand leather jacket. Another pack of cigarettes and some vodka. He throws away the rest of the clothes he’s wearing. He wanders the rundown neighbourhood the old teacher grew up in, familiarises himself. Spots a shady looking teenager and walks over, asks for a light and offers him a cigarette. They start talking, share the vodka. He asks the teen about where he can find a job. On the question of what kind of job he is looking for, he is very vague, rubs his knuckles in a meaningful way and gives the boy an equally meaningful, conspiratorial look. It doesn’t take long before the increasingly drunk teen has mapped out for him who runs the ‘dark side’ of this neighbourhood plus shared a couple of stories from the street life here. Cas goes back to Tatjana’s home. He changes into his combat boots and leaves the golden watch and necklace on the nightstand. He raids the house for drugs or medicine, finding nothing of value. The search yields a nice pocket knife that he takes. He leaves, locking the door after himself and dumps his key in a nearby trashcan. He buys something to eat on the go, barely tasting it, and buys a cross-country bus ticket to the end station, choosing the bus at random. 

After a couple of hours on the bus and countless stops, he gets restless. People board the bus at the next stop. Last minute he gets up and hurries to the exit, bumping into a man on the way. He gets off the bus just as the door is closing. It’s night and it’s raining. There’s a heavy smell of chemicals and burned wood in the air, compliments from the two factory chimneys in the distance. The old station house is crumbling, large chunks of facade have fallen off to reveal brick. The clock on the wall has long since stopped. As the bus disappears in the distance, he takes out the wallet he lifted from the man he bumped into on the bus and removes the cash. He looks at the ID. _Dmitri Krushnic_. Good enough. He is now the street rat Dmitri Krushnic from a rundown neighbourhood in Moscow. He throws the wallet away.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! :D
> 
> Oh, and on another note. Cas figured something out that he mentions on the phone to Sam in the last chapter. Since it's in writing now, have you noticed the pattern? What  
> Matt Sinnaboga, Nick Hijodedios, Michael Filiusdei has in common? Along with Sin-Boziji that Cas mentions. I'm just curious if you guys reflected on that. If you didn't, we'll soon get an answer to what Cas was talking about.


	55. Connecting the dots...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably 6 years ago, Cas is out to get a special kind of fix, one that he craves, but isn't proud of.
> 
> Present day - Things get a little tense between Cas and Luci.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Autassassinophilia  
> \- Violence
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**PROBABLY 2007...**

* * *

The three days since he got here, he has kept to himself. He picks up a general unease in the town, like people are walking on glass and guarding their tongues. He has yet to figure out why. First, he thought this was how it always was here, but soon he noticed small behaviours that hinted at this being something new. It piques his interest. He himself is antsy, but for another reason. He needs a fix. He has a craving he acquired by happenstance the second week he was adrift. Here and now is the time to get it.

He’s been drinking for the last two hours at a nondescript bar where nondescript people come to drink and keep to themselves. He isn’t drunk―far from it―but he isn’t sober and he is itching for something special to make him feel. The target he wants is currently feeling up a girl in the corner while she whimpers and tries to get away. Nobody does anything, including himself. He feels contempt for the man but can’t find enough feelings inside to dredge up the compassion needed to help the girl. The man, tall, blond ponytail, wiry, muscular, and scarred, is only wearing a wifebeater and jeans. Clearly showing off a gun stuffed in the waistband at his back. He has a crude tattoo on his arm, high up by the shoulder. _Croatoan_ it says in a jagged script that looks like it has been filled in over and over again, etched with a knife rather than made with a tattoo gun. The word doesn’t mean anything to Cas.

Cas pays without a word and goes outside to wait. The cold anger in his stomach coils, ready to be fed. He is starting to get hard in anticipation. Huh. That’s new. This has never before happened in advance. Maybe it was the sight of the gun that triggered it? This could easily get him killed, after all. His internal clock has started to tick by seconds. Years of living with precise schedules, surrounded by clocks, has made the measure of time second nature to him. He might be in for a long wait now but it doesn’t matter. His heart is beating fast and steady. 

Every detail in his surrounding stands out. It is dark and raining outside, the buildings are dirty and gray, but for Cas, it feels like everything is in neon colours. He doesn’t want to die, but the risk gets him excited, makes him feel alive. Makes him _feel_. 

He waits one hour and 23 minutes before the man emerges from the bar, now wearing a leather jacket. Cas follows him, keeping out of sight. He sees his chance when the man turns into an alley. Adrenaline spikes. He sneaks up behind the man, grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him around, doling out a hard slap across his ear to cause pain, ringing, and mess with his balance, but most importantly―to piss him off. Time has slowed down. Each second feels like an hour, every move is in slow motion.

The man grabs his gun while still in the spin, but he is too close and Cas is not right in front of him―it’s a mistake. The gun is halfway up, finger on the trigger, Cas grabs the barrel with one hand. He yanks with a twisting motion, the gun goes off and in the echo right after it he hears the bones in the man’s finger break―the gun comes loose. An alarm goes off in the back of his mind when it only causes a grunt from the man. The thrill and excitement overshadow it. With his other hand, he throws a punch. With how time is moving in slow motion, it feels like forever before his arm completes its arc and smashes the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. Pain shoots up through Cas’ knuckles but he hardly feels it. Endorphins flood his system to dull it, as the man flies backwards to the wall and slams his head against it, knocking loose a big chunk of mortar in the process.

His opponent is out cold, sliding down the wall. A bit disappointing. Had he not gone for his gun he might have stood a chance, he didn’t. They’re in a T-cross section where this alley meets another. Dead end to his left and a long empty alley to his right. The fight should be over. But Cas is high from the cocktail of hormones in his body. Testosterone, adrenaline, endorphins, dopamine, who knows what else. He is not high―he is _soaring_! On the outside he might look downright emotionless, but on the inside he is euphoric. He throws the gun carelessly behind him and hoists the unconscious man off the ground, pinning him against the wall. There’s a hunger, a drive, that awakens in him the moment he engages in battle, built up from the moment he decides what to do. He can control it, but he does not want to. Releasing the reins on the ever-present anger in his gut he draws back his arm and punches the man in the face. _Over and over and over_.

He has tunnel vision. His whole focus lays upon the man held up against the wall, whose face is reduced to an unrecognisable bloody mess. Every detail is vivid, so is his hearing. He might not see it but a very quiet _*chi-chick*_ behind him makes him grab the unconscious man with both hands and spin around so that he is the one against the wall. He does it just in time as a gun goes off. He feels the impact of the bullet on his human shield as a thud. A jolt of fear has his heart jumping into overdrive.

Seven meters up the alley another stranger is pointing a gun at him. It’s a tall, built man on the stocky side, in his early forties or late thirties. Relaxed, straight posture, clean shaven, short silver hair, high cheekbones, and a nose just shy of bordering on hawk-like. His features are hard and strong and skirts on the right side of attractive. For some odd reason, Cas wants to know what eye colour he has, which is a totally messed up thought considering the circumstances. He’s literally trapped here against the wall. The man is covering the way he came from and is too far away for Cas to attack. He can’t sprint fast enough to avoid being shot in the back should he try to run to his right. His mouth is dry. The alarm that went off inside of him when he broke his target’s finger with next to no reaction now seems more relevant. Wolves move in packs. His heart is beating so fast and hard it’s almost painful. 

The man doesn’t have his finger on the trigger, he’s just watching Cas. Cas can’t read his expression, possibly because he hasn’t made up his mind about what to do with Cas yet. The fact that he doesn’t try to shoot straight away calms Cas considerably. It seems like hours before the man with the gun speaks.

”You killed my colleague,” he states. There’s no emotional inflection in his voice to give away how he feels about it. His voice is deep and smooth. He gives off an air of command. Respect to be given with no need to demand it. In a very farfetched way, it reminds Cas of Father.

Cas shifts his grip on the dead body he’s holding up, adrenaline lending him the strength needed as he leans the body fully over his chest, to hold it up with only one hand. He snakes his other hand around to the back. He points at the bullet hole, tapping a finger against it, his finger getting sticky with blood. “I’m pretty certain _you_ just killed your colleague,” he retorts dryly, keeping his face impassive. The corners of the man’s lips twitch almost imperceivably in amusement. As an afterthought, Cas adds “...Sir,” in a tone that contravenes the impertinence in his previous statement.

The man watches Cas with a calculating expression for a beat. “We may argue that fact. But the truth remains that he is dead and he had a task to do, functioning as my backup on a job tonight―”

Cas interrupts him by scoffing, making a scornful face. “If this is your chosen backup you would end up dead too, Sir, what with the ease I took this clown out.” There’s another little twitch of amusement in the corner of the man’s lips and Cas feels the fear losing its grip and reverting back to excitement.

”So I saw. Yet the problem remains, you bereaved me of something that was mine and now you owe me,” the man says, his gun is lowered a fraction. Enough for Cas to take the bait.

”I’ll repay you,” Cas answers while he wonders exactly how much the man saw, and _if_ he saw the whole thing - why he didn’t step in to defend his colleague.

”I’m not interested in money.”

”Good, because I’m not offering any,” Cas says. Heart beating wildly, now is the time to take a chance. He drops the body he is holding as a shield, the head hitting the ground with a sickening crack. “I’ll take his place as a backup.”

The man looks at him, that calculating gleam returning to his eyes. In Castiel’s heightened state of awareness each second drags on for hours and worry twists in his stomach. At the same time, his cock is so hard it hurts. He’s standing wide open if front of a gun aimed straight at him by a man whose intentions he can’t discern. The only thing that makes him believe he may not be shot is the fact that the man hasn’t pulled the trigger yet. _Yet._ He’s glad that the leather jacket hides his arousal. 

The man walks a couple of steps closer, picks up the dead man’s gun and puts it in his waistband, his own gun still trained on Cas. He straightens, still studying Cas. “Turn around, put your hands against the wall and spread your legs,” he commands. Cas obeys without a moment's hesitation, heart beating so hard he feels it in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He feels the barrel of the gun against the back of his head, then the man pats him down in search of weapons. If he wanted a chance to get away, this is it. He could do it if he’s fast enough, but he doesn’t. The man finds the pocket knife in Castiel’s back pocket and takes it. Patting him down on the front he feels Cas’ erection and grabs it, squeezing painfully with an amused chuckle. “ _Really_?”

Cas squeezes his eyes shut, face heating up in embarrassment. It’s not something he is proud of, the arousal he derives from these life or death situations. It is really private and he has never let anyone touch him when he is turned on by this. Moments when he feels, he’s alive, and it’s bloody _intimate_. They’d be touching _him_ ―not whoever he’s pretending to be at the moment. And they wouldn’t understand so he doesn’t want to share. Right now he’s certain, though, that trying to evade or fight the man would definitely mean he’d end up dead. And he’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed that he is being called out on it, or because it takes conscious restraint not to buck into the touch.

It’s not that hurting people is something Cas likes. It’s not even winning the fights―although that is the prefered outcome―he gets the same rush even when _he_ is the one ending up unconscious and bloody on the ground (like the first time). The problem is that he doesn’t care enough for people. He doesn’t know how to feel guilty and he’s so numb on the inside that the compassion he manages to feel is minimal. He likes or dislikes people without care for their alignment. He does random acts of kindness and random acts of chaos without a moral compass to guide him. He can discern between what is considered right and wrong but he doesn’t _feel_ it. His ‘goodness’ is more often than not, a tactical choice. He has never felt emotions strongly but when Father and Meg passed away, it was like a big glass dome prevented him from connecting to other people on an emotional level. So in moments like these he just revels in being able to feel _at all_ , not picky about the consequences it has for others.

Luckily, the man doesn’t dwell. He steps away from Cas. “Turn around.”

Cas complies. The man is two steps away and the gun is only half raised now. But Cas has no intentions to fight the man. He just stands impassive waiting for further instructions.

”What’s your name?”

”Dmitri Krushnic, Sir.”

”Who hired you?”

Cas tilts his head and squints in confusion at the man. The man gestures with his gun at the dead body to clarify. “Ah. Nobody. He had such a lovable personality, I couldn’t resist.” Cas smirks slightly, having noticed that sass seemed appreciated and hoping he is right about that. “If anyone wants him dead they’re welcome to count that as a freebie.”

Yet another twitch of amusement. That calculating gaze scrutinizes Cas, the man seems relaxed and wary at the same time. No, not wary - _prepared_. He’s at ease, comfortable, despite the situation. Cas does his best to pretend to be just as unruffled. The man takes forth a set of handcuffs from his back pocket with his free hand and holds them up. “Cuff yourself with your hands in front of you,” he says and throws the cuffs to Cas, who catches them and does what he’s told.

The man steps up to Cas and tightens the cuffs a bit more, making sure Cas can’t get out of them. He takes a coin out of his pocket and throws it at the dead body on the ground. It’s a regular coin, except it has a crude “C” carved on it, just like the crude script on the dead man’s tattoo. Then he motions with the gun for Cas to start walking in the direction the now dead man was heading, into the long empty alley to their right. Cas stays obedient. His mind is whirring with so many thoughts he has trouble holding onto a single one. Except… “What was the coin for?”

”None of your business, Goldilocks,” the man says from where he is walking behind Cas on a safe distance.

Cas chuckles. Sometimes he is surprised by how he’s seen, as it doesn’t correspond with his own self-image. In his mind, no matter how many times he changes his looks, he sees himself as the short-haired, clean-cut boy he was before his life came crashing down. Now his hair is long, sun-bleached, brushing his shoulders in freefalling locks since he has taken to wearing it loose after he left Moscow. ‘Goldilocks’ isn’t totally wrong despite how ill it fits with how _he_ sees himself.

”You’re surprisingly relaxed given the circumstances,” the man remarks as a response to Castiel’s chuckle.

”If there’s ever a situation to be relaxed in, it is one you cannot influence.”

”So you’d be okay with a bullet in the back then?” the man asks dryly.

Cas scoffs. “Pfft. Hardly. But you’re keeping yourself at a safe distance and I haven’t had a chance to get away since after you frisked me.” Cas throws a look over his shoulder and winks at the man. There’s also the little detail that Cas doesn’t want to get away. He wants… Well, he isn’t sure. Not to die of course, but also... he’s riding so high right now and he doesn’t want it to stop. He is far from relaxed, but the fact that the man thinks he is, speaks volumes about his ability to school his outward appearance.

At the end of the alley, there’s a street with only one car parked within view. Cas is directed to it and told to get in, which he does without any fuss. He even puts the seat belt on as soon as he is seated. Something that earns him that amused lip twitch again as soon as the silver-haired man gets into the driver’s seat and sees it.

Cas raises an eyebrow at the man and smirks. “Safety first,” he says and feels infinitely pleased with himself when the man chuckles. In here he can finally see the colour of the man’s eyes. They are grey. Dark grey on the outside and light silver bordering the pupil. “You have beautiful eyes,” he says without thinking.

”That is not something you tell a man,” the man says, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

”I just did. Whether you like to hear it or not is another matter. Sir.” Cas slouches down in his seat, making himself comfortable under the man’s scrutinizing stare. “So do you have a name you’d like to share or am I to keep thinking of you as the silver man?”

Another chuckle and the man closes the door on the driver’s side. Cas mourns the interior lights going out, hiding the silver in the man’s eyes. “The silver man will do for now. I’ll tell you later, if you survive the job,” he says and starts the car.

A thrill of excitement runs down Castiel’s spine. Yes! He wants that. He wants to partake in whatever is about to happen. He wants this silver man who radiates leadership, to give him a purpose. He doesn’t give a shit what kind of purpose. Anything to let this feeling of being real and alive and in colour lingers. He has already resolved to treat this man like he would Father. Father told him what to do, on a need to know basis and Cas didn’t question that, so he won’t question the silver man either.

Cas recognised the insanity in this. He will probably be dead within the next 24 hours. There is no reason for him to be kept alive. This is most likely an illusion, a trap. He had been asked who hired him, so maybe he is taken someplace to be questioned. Maybe he’ll be used as a prostitute until he’s so shredded he couldn’t stay alive if he tried. Maybe he’s taken to the woods and forced to dig his own grave before he’s shot. All those things make more sense than actually getting to work for the man. Cas can’t find it in himself to care. The world is in colour and nothing is ticking.

They drive in silence. Cas’ internal clock measures the drive to twelve minutes. They stop outside of an old, boarded up supermarket building. The silver man turns on the lights inside the car and looks at Cas for a moment. “So you want to back me up, huh?” he asks at last, amusement carrying over in his voice and in his silvery eyes, even if the rest of his face doesn’t give it away.

”Yes, Sir.”

The silver man digs out a photo from inside his jacket and shows Cas. “Our objective is to capture this man alive and in good enough condition to talk. He will be protected by others. Maybe five, maybe twenty-five, no matter. What happens to them is not important as long as they do not interfere with our goal. Understood?”

”Yes, Sir. Dispose of them as I will, but do not harm the object too much to prevent interrogation.”

”Good. Should you mess that up, you will regret it. They are in this store. Apart from the main entrance, there are exits on all sides. I’m going in to the left. We will meet back here in tops 30 minutes.” The silver man looks at Cas like he’s expecting questions. But Cas just nods once and then waits. The man gets out of the car then and walks around, opening the passenger door.

”Could you uncuff me?” Cas asks.

The man chuckles. Eyes shining with amusement. “I could. But that would imply trust,” he says, winks, and slaps Cas’ shoulder before he turns and heads for the store.

Cas grins at his back. His perception may be skewed by the emotional high he is riding, but he thinks he would actually like the guy even if they met during ordinary circumstances. Now he is faced with a myriad of options. He is left alone by the car. He could run. Or hotwire the car and go. _Or_ he could go into the store, take on unknown numbers of most likely armed foes, get back here within 28 minutes and hope he won’t get shot afterwards.

The decision really isn’t that hard.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

Lucifer sets down the breakfast plate on the desk in front of Cas and takes a seat in his own chair. He keeps the trepidation he is feeling out of his face and settles for looking vaguely interested. “What was that all about?” he inquires with a raised eyebrow.

”Nothing,” Cas says, turned towards his breakfast. Then he sighs and swivels around in his chair to face Luci. He drags a hand over his face and seems to deliberate with himself for a beat. “You said you wanted me to trust you as you trust me, back when you took me off the ice due to my injury.” He looks at Lucifer as if to confirm this.

Luci nods.

Cas looks concerned, locking his gaze with Lucifer’s. “Luci, I think Sam’s in serious trouble.”

”Oh? Has he said anything?” Luci frowns, mimicking Castiel’s concerned look, but for other reasons.

Cas lets out an exasperated huff. “No! The stubborn assbutt refuses to tell me anything about it. It’s what he doesn’t say that gives it away,” Cas grouses in annoyance.

Luci is partly relieved. At least Sam isn’t blabbering. “Care to explain?”

Cas takes a really deep breath and lets it out, deflating into his chair as he does, practically melting. Ass sliding down so he’s lying sprawled on the chair, arms hanging limply at his sides. “Not really. But I will anyway.” He looks at Luci with tired eyes. “Have you ever heard of the _Porodica_?”

Luci’s heart is beating so fast. He frowns deeply. Cas interprets it as a ‘no’ and sits up straight again.

”I saw that you filled in two things in my file. My last score in a figure skating competition, and the years between my Father and girlfriend died, up until when I started playing hockey in Sweden followed by a question mark.”

Luci nods. “Yes. I couldn’t find any information about you during those years. It’s like you ceased to exist,” he confirms.

Cas smiles a sad smile, looking at his lap. “I did cease to exist. During those five years, I didn’t use my real name once. I drifted, conned, did drugs, broke laws. I did everything and anything, really. And, as you have discerned by now―I fought.” Cas looks up to meet Lucifer’s eyes, his expression turning serious. “Because of it, I came in contact with a crime syndicate called the _Porodica_ , lead by the Sin-Božji family. They’re spread worldwide and are absolutely ruthless. I have reason to believe Sam may be under threat from them because of―” Cas’ eyes flick away for just a beat to a point behind Luci and he cuts off abruptly. Eyes going round, he visibly pales as he looks back. Just like that, he’s on his feet, stepping away from Luci, backing into his desk, eyes flicking to the door that is blocked by Luci’s chair and then back again. He stops, his whole being radiating distress, breath coming shallow and rapid. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

Luci feels sick to his stomach at seeing Castiel back away from him. There are a number of questions that need answers very urgently. Cas’ lack of knowledge about who Luci is, speaks for him not being a plant by _Otac_ or any other family members. Probably. If he had been sent here to keep an eye on Luci he would not have brought up this subject. The question is, _who is he?_ He could belong to a number of rival criminal organisations, or possibly even some law enforcing agency following an old trail trying to discern what Michael had been up to in these parts. It did happen sometimes that the law came sniffing after the _Porodica_. Rarely. The justice system is thoroughly infiltrated and never gets very far. But not every cop or agent is corrupt. And while the _Porodica_ is the leading crime syndicate in the western world, along with Africa, Australia, and South America, they allow other organisations to co-exist and are challenged locally ever so often by those.

Luci throws a look over his shoulder to see what exactly it was that made Cassie react. The photo of him and Mikey. Well then. Judging by what he overheard Castiel say on the phone, “ _...Filiusdei, Sin-Božji....It only took me this long to catch on because I didn’t expect…_ ”, Cassie has obviously connected dots that require some background information, that few have access to. Thus furthering the theory of a rival organisation or an agent. It might be a good idea to take some precautions right about now. Especially since Castiel’s expression is morphing from horrified distress into a solid fighting face at this very moment. Luci opens a desk-drawer without looking away from Cas, and takes out a gun. His face remains neutral but his heart is beating wildly, stomach churning and he’s screaming internally somewhere in the back of his mind. Castiel doesn’t even flinch at the sight of the gun, he remains still in the furthest corner of the room, poised, hard-eyed. Lucifer rests the handle of the gun, aimed at Cas, on his thigh. He really, _really_ does **not** want to do this.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and don't forget to check out my other fics! :)


	56. He's got Balls...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation between Cas and Luci gets a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Violence (not very graphical)  
> \- Outsiders POV for part of this chapter.
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  I'm sorry for the horrible cliffhanger I left. (Well, not really, but I, as an avid fic reader, can relate to your plight.)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**TO CHOOSE A BROTHER**

* * *

Time seems to be standing still, the air so thick it’s hard to breathe. The gun resting on his thigh weighs a ton. The thought of actually pulling the trigger rips Luci’s heart to shreds. He wonders if this is how Michael felt when Luci turned on him in Sam’s defence. Cas is slowly sinking into a fighting stance and then stilling, apart from the breast cage heaving. Something’s gotta give, and soon. For once, Luci is not sure what to say or do to defuse the situation and get the information he needs. Like _who, the fuck, is Castiel_? And what kind of threat does he pose to Luci and his brothers? Because, he still loves his brothers, especially and above all Michael. Despite it all. And Michael’s former presence in twin towns is the only logical reason for an agent or rival to show up here.

Castiel is the one to break the silence. “Lucifer Sin-Božji.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Luci answers anyway, clinging hard to his relaxed pose and neutral facial expression. “Yes.”

”Sam is under threat from the _Porodica_.” Another statement. Voice hard and flat.

Luci takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Yes.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow, lips pushing into a thin line. “I will not let you harm Sam Winchester.”

And that’s it really. That part is wrong in the context. Sam is of no interest to either any rival criminal gangs or law enforcing agencies. And as much as Luci loves Michael, Luci made a choice. A choice that will forever separate him from his family. The only reason it hasn’t come back to bite him in the ass yet is that Mikey, bless him, is keeping his mouth shut, still loyal to Luci. That’s why he can still talk to his brothers on the phone occasionally. But he chose Sam. He chose freedom. And he chose to make his own family in a sense. He counts Cassie as family. If he’s been duped then he’ll rather pay the price on equal footing.

Luci slowly puts the gun down on the desk and gets up out of the chair. He takes a step towards Castiel and stops, crossing his arms over his chest and tilts his head slightly, looking at Cas. “Right now I’m the only thing that’s keeping Sammy safe, мали брат,” he says softly.

The words have an effect. Cassie sucks in breath sharply and his face contorts into a mournful, pleading expression. He takes a step backwards, but there’s nowhere to go. He is trapped in the corner formed by his desk and the wall. “Luci, why do you call me that?! Why are you playing me?” He shakes his head as if he’s denying what he heard. “It’s no use now that I know who you are. I know the rules of your family―you don’t _care_!” He blinks repeatedly, eyes getting glossy. Cas isn’t keeping his mask up. Luci knows he can, but he isn’t.

He allows himself to respond in kind, screw keeping up appearances. He lets his own sorrow show. “But I _do_ care, little brother. Despite the rules. I _care_. It has always been my problem. That’s why I go by the name Morningstar instead of any name related to Sin-Božji, to set me apart.”

Castiel stares at him for a beat, troubled frown creasing his brow. Then he looks down at the floor, eyes darting back and forth the way they do when you’re seeing a memory play out instead of what’s really in front of you. When he looks up again his eyes are wide with wonder. “You’re the one who had a dog named baby,” he states.

Luci feels something inside him lurch. “Sam told you?”

”No. Your brother did.”

Now Luci is truly jarred. That shoots down theories of both rivals and agents. It just confuses the Hell out of him. He needs to sit down, but he doesn’t. So many questions whirl in his head. How? When? Why? And most of all _why?_

Castiel continues before Luci can speak up. Both of them are obviously rapidly going through a whole range of emotions in this because he’s no longer displaying any hostility. Cas is looking vulnerable and hopeful. “Do you truly view me as a brother, Luci? Don’t lie to me.”

”Yes.” He really needs to sit down. He feels totally out of character, not able to make sense of the situation.

”And you have no intention of letting your family hurt Sam? Or Dean, for that matter?”

”No.”

Castiel walks up to him, stops one stride away. Too close to be safe should Luci hold on to hostility and attack. Cassie knows this, it’s not by mistake. He hesitates for a moment, swallowing. Then he gets a determined look on his face, draws up to his full height and looks Luci square in his eyes. “In that case, _big brother_ , you are in danger too, and I extend the same promise to you as I did to Sam on the shooting range―I pledge my life in your defence if such day comes that it will be necessary.”

He looks so determined and earnest that Luci believes him. Every question that is raised by Castiel’s knowledge of the inner workings of the Sin-Božji family still needs to be answered, but in so many ways, this is what Luci rebelled for. The right to choose heart before logic, tactics, and rules. Cassie has shown an ability to adapt and accept new situations with great speed. He has trusted blindly and unquestioningly on many occasions. Luci closes the distance between them, hooks his hand behind Cas’ neck and pulls him close, bestowing a kiss on his forehead. Pledge accepted. “This feels very dramatic, Castiel. We need to talk this out. You need to tell me everything you know about the _Porodica_ and how you came to know it. In return, I will tell you about my falling out with my family and the situation surrounding Sam Winchester. _You_ are my family now. That’s the choice I made when I called you brother for the first time. But in light of this, full disclosure is necessary. Agreed?”

Castiel nods solemnly. “Agreed.” He cracks into a smile. “This does have the drama level of a daytime soap opera, doesn’t it?”

”Yes,” Luci says, answering the smile with one of his own. “So how do you know these things?”

Cassie stretches the collar of his shirt to bare the top of his shoulder. He has a very prominent bite mark there, but that’s not what he meant to show, he taps a finger to an old faded scar in the shape of a perfect “C”. Luci has seen it before, of course, he has. But never thought much of it. Castiel has lots of small scars and without the context, it seemed more like a coincidence. Add to that how perfectly rounded it is and that Cassie’s name started with a “C”, and there is no reason to suspect the meaning Castiel now implied.

Luci reaches out a hand and traces the “C” on Castiel’s shoulder with a finger. He thinks of the pledge Cassie just made him. On a whim, he goes on to spell out the missing letters. Castiel follows the motion with his eyes and shivers when Luci makes the “N” at the end.

”I really wanted that,” Castiel says, staring at his shoulder as if he could see the letters. He swallows and is silent for a beat. Then, quietly; “...I think I still do. ...Part of me at least.”

Luci leans their foreheads together and traces the “C” again. “It’s very lovingly done. Is it done by one of my brothers or another croat?” In theory, it doesn’t make a difference, but the thought of one of his brothers claiming Cassie sparks both possessive and protective impulses in him. He doesn’t want to share Cassie with them any more than he wants to share Sam. Maybe if it had been Mikey, but it isn’t.

”A Croatoan.” Cassie chuckles and peers up Luci, their proximity making him go cross-eyed. “You really think it would have been so lovingly done if it was done by a Бог брат?”

Luci shrugs. “It’s rare. But two of my brothers are artistic and would do it for the aesthetics.” He frowns, ticked off by wording. “And don’t use that title. We don’t use it amongst equals,” he chastises. “Now, the full story,” he says and steps away, sitting down finally. He puts the gun on the desk back in the drawer he took it from and turns to face Castiel, gesturing for him to sit down. He is still not fully at ease, still shaken inside by being blindsided like this. But the relief is still palpable. 

Cas sits down, grabs his breakfast plate and fork, and rolls his office chair over to Luci’s desk. He puts his feet on it, keeping the plate in his lap. “Full disclosure, right? Then I need to fill you in a bit about my life before this happened too. Starting from when Father died…” Castiel starts talking while eating his breakfast. He isn’t holding back on details, no matter how incriminating they may be. Luci might be good at reading people and successfully guess their past life experiences, but this is too far outside of the ordinary to be predicted.

Almost three hours later they’ve moved to the living room. They’re sitting on the couch nursing a beer each, Luci’s legs in Castiel’s lap. Luci breaks Cassie off, laughing. “You mean to tell me, going into that supermarket was the most attractive option for you?”

Castiel squints at him. “Of course,” he says in a dead serious voice.

Luci inclines his head and pulls the corners of his lips down in an amused facial shrug. “Alright. Seems legit. Go on…”

* * *

Probably 2007…

Sasha had found the Bratva drug lab in the basement and ‘cleaned it out’ while he searched for Ivanov. The leader of this cell was nowhere in sight. The _Porodica_ isn’t interested in salvaging the drugs so he leaves the dead bodies and goes back upstairs. He’s a bit miffed about having to do this job alone but secretly pleased by being rid of his current partner. As far as he’s concerned, Goldilocks has done the world a favour by killing Pavel. They’d been paired up since Sasha returned to Russia and he loathed the guy. All he did was complain. And while Pavel had been loyal enough to the _Porodica_ , he was not somebody Sasha trusted to have his back. There had been too many close calls when Sasha was sure Pavel just hadn’t given a shit. That’s why when he’d seen somebody stalk Pavel, he hadn’t interfered. He briefly wonders how far Goldilocks would have gotten before he’d take up the hunt for the younger man.

That thought comes to a sudden halt when he stumbles upon a body he hasn’t been the cause of. He bends down to check the pulse. The guy is dead as a doornail. No bullet wounds. Broken neck. Huh. The sound of voices coming closer makes him quickly hide behind a shelf.

”Oh don’t be bothersome. We’re just going on a little road trip, nothing to be mopey about.”

”Mppflp! Mmmff _mpfl_!”

”Now now, Mister. No need to use that kind of language. You should feel honoured. I’m sure you’ve done something really special to get this invite.”

”Mmf _mpl_ fflm.”

”Thanks for offering, but I must politely decline,” the first voice says dryly. Sasha sneaks a peek around the corner and feels a jolt of surprise. Coming down this aisle is _Goldilocks_ , pushing Ivanov―who’s gagged, hands behind his back, and wearing a blindfold―in front of him while warily looking around. 

_I’ll be damned! Why didn’t he bolt?_

Goldilocks appears unarmed but is out of his cuffs. He’s having an ongoing conversation with the high ranking Bratva member he’s herding, answering every muffled rant like they actually mean something. Sasha has to fight the urge to laugh. He met this guy not even 50 minutes ago and already he likes him more than he had Pavel. He is clearly mad. It’s either that, or stupid. But he doesn’t appear stupid as such. There had been a great deal of intelligence in those eyes. The erection he had sported after beating the life out of Pavel also spoke for madness. That’s not something unusual or disturbing for Sasha. Not after working for the Sin-Božji family for more than 20 years. They are _all_ mad, one way or another.

Suddenly Goldilocks stops, listening intently and twisting his head around to look behind him. Sasha sees the threat from this angle, but from where Goldi stands there’s no way he would before it’s too late. The would-be sniper is hidden behind a stack of cardboard boxes. Goldi is obscuring Sasha’s aim slightly, but he thinks he can make the shot anyway. All this happens in a timeframe of two seconds. Before the would-be sniper has raised his gun enough to have a chance, Sasha aims and fires. His silencer muffles the shot.

The bullet whistles so close by Goldi’s head it grazes his hair. The would-be sniper collapses outward from behind the boxes. Goldi dives for Ivanov, felling him to the ground and covering him with his body. Sasha steps out in the aisle and puts another bullet in the sniper before he recovers enough to get a shot off. Another man rounds the corner up by the boxes and opens fire at the same time as Sasha. They both miss and jerk back to take cover.

At first, the only thing he can hear is Ivanov’s muffled presumed-to-be screams. Then Goldi chimes in.

”Yes, yes. I see your point. This was not how I envisioned our first time either. But believe me, Mister, right now, vertical is what you want to be. Especially with me topping.”

Sasha stores that away to replay it later, when he is free to laugh about it. A quick glance around the corner, a glimpse of the other shooter doing the same, he fires, then back behind shelter.

”We’re relocating. Crawl.”

”Mpfffhgnf.”

”I said _crawl_.” 

” _MMRRRRGHH_!” Whatever Goldi just did, it obviously hurt and is followed by shuffling sounds.

The next time Sasha peeks around the corner he can see Goldi and Ivanov have taken shelter in a crossing aisle, beside a large freeze box. Goldi peeks under the shelves, when he looks up he sees Sasha watching and holds up three fingers, then one, and points to one side of the shelves where the other hidden shooter supposedly stands, then two, and gestures towards the other side of the high row of shelves. After that, he grabs Ivanov and hoists him up, dumps him into the big (out of order) freeze box and slides the lid partway shut. He points at himself, then points in the direction he had implicated the enemies. He does a thumbs up and raises his eyebrows in question. A quick nod from Sasha and Goldi darts across the aisle out of sight. The noise of the running makes the shooter on the other end of the aisle peek out and exchange a round of bullets with Sasha―none of which meets their intended target.

It strikes Sasha that Goldi is still unarmed, yet the body he stumbled upon with a broken neck still had a gun beside it. Sasha finds it peculiar. He checks his mag. Two bullets left. He takes out another mag from his jacket to have it ready. Suddenly there’s loud crashing noise followed by the sound of a lot of something rolling. Someone ( _Goldi?_ ) yells “Catch!” followed by an “ _Ouff_!” coming from the shooter on the opposite side of his aisle. Sasha looks out in time to see the man come flying out pushed by a big exercise ball, backpedalling and trying to catch his balance. It would be easier if the whole floor on that side of the store hadn’t been full of rolling marbles. Sasha puts the two last bullets in the man and reloads his gun. His lips twitch in amusement. Another thing to store away to laugh about when the situation is less grave.

The store falls silent except for the sound of rolling marbles and the barely audible muffled complaints from Ivanov in the freezer. Then there’s a high pitches “ _Eeeek_!” a crash, sounds of recorded laughter―the kind you put into toys―and loud swearing that suddenly cuts off followed by a thud. Sasha can’t even imagine what Goldi is up to except to conclude the young man had found the toy section and decided to go to town.

He hears running footsteps and automatic gunfire going off. The sound is deafening in the confined space. Once it stops the ensuing silence is thunderous. Sasha strains his ears, trying to discern if Goldilocks is still alive. A Teletubbies voice saying “ _Give me a biiig huuug_!” followed by a man’s voice “What the Fu _-ouch_! Ow! Ow! Ow!” gives him the answer. Another crash followed by silence. Then calm footsteps and the sound of a bouncing tennis ball coming his way.

He peeks around the corner and sees Goldilocks coming, looking calm and no worse for the wear. He’s got three small sacks of marbles tied to his belt and a slingshot poking out of his back pocket. He’s bouncing a ball and wearing a fucking _tiara_ on his head. When he sees Sasha he smiles cheekily. “All clear, Sir. Let me just pick up something for the road from the freezer and we can be on our way,” he says and winks.

Sasha watches in amusement how Goldi hauls Ivanov from the freezer, adjusts his blindfold and ushers him to Sasha. He points at the handcuffs at Ivanov’s back. “I hope you don’t mind the recycling. We were having trust issues.”

Sasha chuckles and motions for the two of them to walk ahead. Once they’re back by the car Goldi helps Ivanov into the trunk, gently guiding his head so he doesn’t hit it, then places a blanket as a cushion under their hostage’s head before he slams the trunk shut. “There’s a plastic bag in the backseat. Take it out and put your balls, marbles, slingshot, and tiara in it,” Sasha says. No need to have the man armed in the car. Goldilocks complies without so much as a twitch of hesitance. “Tie the bag close with a double knot and put it by the rear window of the car, then get in up front.” Once again the man obeys, getting in and buckling the seat belt. Sasha is a bit at loss with what to do with the younger man. The original plan was to let him bolt and then chase him down and kill him. He is no longer keen on doing so. He saves the decision for later, holsters his gun and gets into the driver’s side.

They drive in silence. Goldi is still sporting an erection. Could be some fetish, could be he just popped too many blue pills earlier tonight. It’s irrelevant so Sasha doesn’t ask about it. After five minutes of driving Goldi pulls a Kermit the frog Pez dispenser from his pocket. He pops a candy into his mouth and offers one to Sasha who shakes his head. “You found that in the store?”

”Yes.”

”Have you any idea how old they must be?”

”That would explain the funky taste,” Goldi answers and pops another one in his mouth, unperturbed.

Sasha chuckles and divides his attention between watching the road and the young man who raises the dispenser to his nose, flips the head and sniffs the candy thoroughly before he goes on to eat the rest of the candy. When he’s done he throws the dispenser in the back. “What did it taste like?” Sasha asks.

”Dust, sugar, wet sawdust, and faded artificial orange flavour,” Goldi answers and leans his head against the window, closing his eyes. 

Sasha marvels at the young man’s ability to stay calm. He replays some of the scenes from the supermarket in his head, particularly the one where his bullet had whizzed by Goldi’s cheek so close it touched his hair. The younger man’s reaction had been diving to protect their target. Not what you’d expect. And he had only sought cover from the Bratva, not from Sasha, yet there was no reason for him to believe Sasha wasn’t a threat. Because he is.

After thirty more minutes, the only sound that’s heard is the sound of the engine and the steady sound of Goldi’s breathing, plus an occasional thump from the trunk. “Are you asleep?” Sasha asks.

”Yes. Deeply asleep, Sir,” Goldi answers without stirring or opening his eyes.

Sasha chuckles. Mad or not, he likes this guy. He wants to find out who he is and who―if anyone―he works for. The silence is nice. Usually, it would have been filled by Pavel’s never-ending complaints.

They turn up on a gravel driveway to a big house. Goldi raises his head and opens his eyes when Sasha parks the car. “Do not follow me,” Sasha orders and gets out of the car. He is being vague on purpose, just to see if the guy will bolt. He gets Ivanov and walks up to the house. One of the Croatoans on outside guard duty materialises seemingly from nowhere. “Hey, Aleksandr. Who’s the new guy?” he asks Sasha and gestures with his head towards the car.

”None of your business, Piotr,” he answers with a grin to take the sting out of the response. He gives the guard a friendly slap on the shoulder before shepherding Ivanov inside. He delivers the hostage to the Бог брат and informs him that Pavel is dead. He doesn’t say how and the Бог брат doesn’t ask. Let him presume it was a death on the job. Should he ask, Sasha would tell the truth, but he doesn’t.

When he emerges back out Piotr once again materialises. “Has he stirred?” Sasha asks.

Piotr shakes his head. “No. But judging by his eye movements he has spotted three of us. New recruit?”

”Possibly,” Sasha shrugs noncommittally, then after a beat adds “Pavel is dead.”

Piotr snorts and grunts. “Not shedding any tears for him. Everything else went smoothly?”

Sasha nods. “I’m heading home. Catch you for a game tomorrow?”

”You know it.” Piotr smiles and gives him a little wave before melting into the background again.

Sasha gets back into the car and drives home, not a word is exchanged during the forty minutes drive. Goldi is occasionally alert and looking out the windows and occasionally resting with his eyes closed. The only time Goldi makes a sound is when they spot a fox trotting alongside the road and he coos in delight. The next time he speaks is when they enter the apartment where he asks to use the bathroom. Sasha allows it as long as he keeps the door open. The young man does his business, it takes time―peeing with an erection is next to impossible―and comes back out.

Sasha tells him to take off all his clothes, which he does without protest. He seems utterly unruffled by being made to strip. Just as comfortable being naked at gunpoint as clothed. Sasha gives him instructions. “Hands above your head. Turn around. Spread your ass cheeks. Hold up your hair. Turn around and hold out your hands, fingers spread.” Sasha is checking for tattoos or other marks that would indicate affiliation, finding none. No needle marks indicating heavy drug abuse. There are scars, some newer and some old, and bruises that obviously are from today. Other than that there’s nothing.

Sasha allows him to put on underwear and shows him into a bare room with only a clock and a mattress on the floor. The mattress has bedding, but that’s it. Once Goldi is inside Sasha locks the door and booby traps it so that an alarm will go off if the door opens. But the door remains untouched through the night.

* * *

Present day...

Luci doubles over laughing. “ _Slime?!_ What on earth were you thinking, making slime and a Teletubby your choice of weapon?!”

Cas is grinning his biggest gummy grin, feeling absolutely ecstatic being able to talk about all this, without his listener so much as batting an eyelash at what he has done or how he felt about it. In fact, if anything, Luci had reacted as if being turned on by danger is perfectly normal. “Oh, come on. I didn’t use those as weapons per se. They were just distractions for the real danger - _me._ Besides, the squeal he made when the slime came down on him was priceless.”

They have abandoned the beer and switched to cognac. Who cares if it isn’t even noon yet. Luci can’t hold his liquor as well as Cas, so he’s drunk already, and Cas is feeling the effects too. Their intoxication is heightened by the giddy relief after the tense moment earlier in the morning. The sheer horror Cas had felt when his eyes fell on the picture of Luci and Michael as teenagers and connected the dots is gone. Then he’d been angry. He loved Luci, the thought of him posing a threat to Sam sparked both rage and desperation. He was sure he was going to die right that moment without having a chance to protect Sam. He was hard-pressed to believe Luci really had feigned to care for him as his family name implied.

But then Luci had put down the gun and called him мали брат. Cas knew the rules, Sasha had explained it thoroughly. For all intents and purposes―Luci calling him that implied a possible death sentence for the both of them. And Cas had seen Luci and Sam together when Dean wasn’t near. They worship each other. For Cas, it’s plain to see. Sam looked at Luci with the same adoration as a faithful dog. And the word ‘dog’ sparked a memory of mentions of a Бог брат who put care where none should be. Luci confirmed it when asked about baby. After that, the choice had been as easy as choosing to enter the supermarket six years past.

Now they’re both sprawled on the couch, legs tangled together. “And I was having the trip of a lifetime. I had it all at that moment. Or at least, then it felt like it. Apart from the danger―for the first time in two years I had a purpose, and a strong leader to follow. At that point I wasn’t worried about what would happen later, I just wanted to please him and do the job well,” Cas continues with a grin.

”And so you did, apparently,” Luci smirks.

”Of course. But you know the silliest thing is―I can’t believe I’m telling you this―from the moment I found the abandoned toy section I couldn’t stop singing the theme song for _Gummi Bears_ under my breath while I was stalking my intended prey.”

”You mean―” Luci starts to sing (a true testament that he’s drunk) “ _Dashing and daring, Courageous and caring, Faithful and friendly, With stories to share. All through the forest, They sing out in chorus, Marching along, As their song fills the aaair._ ” All the while Cas is nodding vigorously. When he gets to the chorus Cas chimes in. “ _Gummi Bears!! Bouncing here and there and everywhere. High adventure that's beyond compare. They are the Gummi Bears._ ” Then they both collapse in laughter.

When they collect themselves somewhat Luci asks “I just have to ask, why the gummi bear song?”

”It’s a very heroic and happy song, and I felt exceedingly heroic and happy at that point.”

Luci sniggers. “You are a diamond amongst gravel, little brother. And the tiara?”

Cas feels his cheeks heating up a bit from the praise and smiles contentedly. “A weapon. The edges were very sharp. But the silver man saw through that and confiscated it all the same,” he says and makes a displeased face, remembering how annoyed he had been at the time. “Anyway, where was I? Right. I was scared out of my wits during the whole car trip after delivery. He hadn’t made his intentions clear. I _wanted_ more of what we’d done that night. I was hoping he’d keep me on. I thought he might. His eyes kept flashing with what looked like warm amusement anytime I spoke, which was a good sign.” Cas proceeds to tell him about being taken to the apartment and made to strip, then locked into a room with only a bed and a clock on the wall. “I barely registered the ticking of the clock. For the first time since forever, I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow and slept the whole night through…”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay then. Cas story will be continued. Had I written it all you'd have to wait too long for such cliffhanger I left on the last chapter and that would be unacceptable.
> 
> In the meantime, please check out my other works if you need something to do. ;)  
> Oh and Volatile Chemistry has it's own [Tumblr](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/) blog now. Anything related to the fic and the VC'Verse will be posted there. Go follow. ;)  
> *Toot, toot* (Me tooting my own horn)
> 
> Comments make me worship and adore you. Please leave one on your way out. ;)


	57. Croatoan recruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets sucked into a dangerous world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**RUDE AWAKENING**

* * *

2007 probably…

Sound comes first. A clock ticking somewhere. Memories of last night flood back in his brain and suddenly he’s hard pressed to hear the clock. The _tick, tick, tick_ it’s making, is no longer haunting. He does, however, hear the sound of silence. The sound somebody makes who is trying not to make any. Like a void of sound where sound should be, even in silence. His hackles are instantly up. He doesn’t make a move though, just feigning sleep while he registers the rest of his wakeful world.

Then comes scent. The general scent is clean, with a hint of dust. His bedding smells clean, the scent of detergent is very vague and his own sweat is overpowering in the almost utter lack of other scents. He thinks the bed was made and remained unused for a very long time, due to how faded the detergent is. He strains to smell more of the room without drawing a deep breath and catches the faintest hint of another person’s scent. No perfume, cologne, or soap―just the scent of warm skin that isn’t his own. He wouldn’t have detected it without the knowledge that it was likely to be there.

He is aware of sensation next. His body aches in a number of places. Getting out of the handcuffs hadn’t been easy. He knows how to―just as he knows how to pick locks―but he isn’t good at it, so the cuffs had chafed quite a bit before he managed to dislodge them. While taking out the three last enemies had gone smoothly, the first ones when entering the supermarket had been another matter. He’s pretty banged up. He hadn’t felt it then, but now he does. Possibly, the throbbing in his knuckles is the worst. No regrets though.

Cas keeps still. Minutes tick by and the silent presence is still there. His heart’s speeding up due to the lack of knowledge about what is to come. He _hates_ waking up. Mornings are evil and this start of the day doesn’t make it better. He feels resentment for the silent presence. A couple of minutes more pass by. Then there’s a shift. Very faint sounds of jeans-clad legs shifting. He doesn’t hear footsteps, but suddenly a boot-clad foot connects with his ribs. Cas reacts instantly, grabbing the foot and twisting, at the same time kicking out at his assailant's belly with a vicious snarl.

A kick in the head jars him enough to lose his bearings and grip―he’s hauled upright and slammed chest first against the wall. A hand fists his hair and slams his head once, twice, against the wall. He mentally claws at consciousness to remain lucid, as darkness steals his eyesight and his head spins from the brutal impact. This is it. _This is how I die._ Only hearing remains. He loses the ability to control his limbs. His cock has gone from nothing into full erection during these seconds of battle. _Not only am I fucked―I’m fucked up too._

To his surprise, a third head slam never comes. Instead, his assailant holds him up, pressed up against the wall when his legs give out. It gives him the respite he needs to win the fight against unconsciousness. He does not continue to fight once he regains the ability to support his own weight. He opens his eyes and promptly closes them again. His head is spinning so bad it makes his stomach flip. He holds still but full on _growls_ his sentiment about this wake up call.

A chuckle he became familiar with yesterday sounds from behind his right ear. The silver man is evil. Set on this earth to mess up his mornings. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Castiel growls louder.

”Not a morning person, I presume?” the silver man asks with amusement.

”If you want a moderate resemblance to politeness I suggest you wake me up with a cup of coffee and a simple ‘good morning’ instead of a boot to my ribs the next time,” Cas snaps, eliciting another chuckle from the man.

”Can you walk by yourself? There is coffee in the other room.”

Cas contemplates this, aggression warring with nausea but the prospect of coffee in his imminent future lessens the annoyance. “I don’t know. Is being carried an option?” he grouses at last.

He gets an outright laugh in response. “You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that.”

”Since somebody acquainted my skull with the wall recently, my head isn’t exactly feeling up to par just yet, so unless we’ve got actual enemies to fight then I do _not_ think I can walk just yet,” Cas says in a dry tone bordering on a growl.

The man stills for a beat, possibly surprised by the fact that Cas aligned them on the same side of a possible fight. The next thing he knows his hair is let go of and he is being hauled over the man’s shoulder, almost throwing up in the process as the movement makes his head spin, along with causing bright flashes of pain behind his eyes. His nose ends up resting against the small of the man’s back. He grabs a hold of the man’s shirt to help stabilize himself while he is being carried, and true to his nature he burrows his nose in and inhales deeply.

”Are you sniffing me?” silver man asks bemusedly when Cas repeats the deep inhales twice more.

”Yes.”

A hard, painful flick of a finger on his erection makes him flinch. “Don’t,” silver man chastises.

Cas snorts and presses his nose in deeper, taking another deep breath. “Coffee before orders,” he grouses. Then just as suddenly as he was lifted, the world tilts precariously once again and he’s dumped unceremoniously onto a chair without warning. A suffering strangled groan escapes him unbidden as another wave of nausea rolls over him accompanied by painful flashes behind his eyes. He hopes it’s just a mild concussion and nothing devastatingly serious. He keeps his eyes firmly pressed shut.

A mug is pressed into his hand and the scent of coffee reaches his nose. The silver man is decidedly a good man, not evil at all. Never loath the coffee provider. Cas drinks greedily, scalding his tongue and caring jack shit. His stomach doesn’t protest. Two pills are pressed into his other hand, they might be cyanide capsules for all he cares, he swallows them anyway and washes them down with the last of his coffee. He holds the cup out. “Refill,” he demands, hearing a huff in protest but then his mug is being refilled.

Now when he doesn’t feel like he’s under any immediate threat his erection finally dies down and he sips the coffee with less urgency. A pack of frozen peas is pressed against the side of his head. “Hold that in place. You’re going to look like shit later but this will lessen the swelling a bit at least.”

Cas grunts and does what he’s told. After that, he’s left alone. Not completely. He can hear the man move around in what’s presumably the kitchen. Another cup being poured, a chair scraping, what’s probably a newspaper slowly being flipped through. Cas ignores it, focuses on sipping his coffee and holding the bag of peas against his head. Slowly pain and nausea give way to a fuzzy, floating, detached feeling. There’s no pain _at all_. Whatever pills he was given they are strong. He’s not sure if the floating feeling is caused by concussion or the pills. His thoughts are fleeting and hard to grasp and hold. He feels good.

”Open your eyes,” the silver man commands from right in front of him. Cas is not sure how long his mind has been drifting, but he can’t recollect having heard the man move. He opens his eyes. The man is squatting in front of him, holding up loads and loads of fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Cas can’t count that high at the moment. He’d rather look at the man’s eyes. Right now sunlight is shining through the window hitting them just right, revealing the true splendor of their colour, framed by long, dark lashes. “You’ve got five and a half eyes and they’re all equally beautiful,” Cas muses. The outer ring of the iris is dark, almost black. Cassiterite and hematite―tin and iron ores that shift into granite. Inside of that, his eyes shift into… it’d be insulting to call it grey. From granite, they shift to plain tungsten and titanium, then fade through palladium, white gold, platinum and finally white tungsten and sterling silver closest to the pupil. A starburst of precious metals that shift as the pupil contracts and expands. They’re enchanting. The word beautiful is inadequate to describe them. Cas can’t find a superlative to do them justice.

The corners of the man’s lips twitch and his cheeks colour slightly. His shoulders start shaking with silent laughter and he lowers his hand. “Wow. You’re quite a poet, Princess.”

Poet? Now, why would he say that? If he was a poet he’d be able to find the words needed to describe the wondrous orbs in front of him. They go so well with the rest of him. Only wearing jeans and a simple white wifebeater. Oh, but how he flatters his clothing. The fabric stretches across a wide, well-muscled chest, golden brown skin tanned to perfection in the sun. Broad shoulders, and corded muscles in his arms. He exudes strength, competence, and confidence. Cas would follow him anywhere just to marvel at his perfection. He wishes he was the wifebeater, to get to cling so close to that skin.

The silver man throws his head back and laughs heartily. Cas doesn’t know why he’s laughing, but he is very pleased to hear the sound of his laughter.

The man has the same word carved onto his upper arm, by the shoulder, as the mark he chose yesterday. ‘ _Croatoan_ ’ has been carved repeatedly over itself many times. Cas is not pleased about that. The man he fought in the alley was not good enough to be associated or compared to the silver man on any level. His mark had been such a disappointment. He wanted a fight, but the idiot had gone for his gun instead of defending himself with hand to hand combat as would have made more sense in such close proximity. People relied upon their guns much too heavily. Thinking it was the salvation to everything. Morons. He thought he had picked out a fighter. Maybe he himself was an idiot for misjudging his mark.

The silver man shrugs and hums. “Maybe so, but often the gun is the easiest solution. But you mean to tell me you picked Pavel out at random?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

At random? _Hardly._ There was nothing random about it. He’d been searching for the right mark since he arrived four days ago. It’d be useless to pick someone random. It wouldn’t give him the kick he needs. No. Was the asshole called Pavel? Well, Pavel was not picked randomly, he’d been picked for his appearance of being a fighting man. Somebody who could hold his own, who wouldn’t back down from a fight―somebody _dangerous_. He’d like to claim he’d chosen his mark for molesting a woman and being a general scumbag. But it wouldn’t have been true. He’d have gone for bloody Captain America if that was the first suitable option. He was hunting for the kick, not for a cause.

Colours have started to blur and dance in patterns everywhere except where Cas is focussing, and Cas has his whole focus on the silver man. The man himself, shifting back and forth between being one and three people, appears to be radiant. Like someone turned up the saturation to the maximum. Cas feels warm and tingling and can’t really feel his body at all, it’s like his brain is being tickled and hugged. He’s just a floating cloud of thoughts. The image of that makes him giggle.

The man pats him on the knee. “Yes I know, Goldilocks. It will pass in a couple of hours. Until then, just keep talking.”

That’s preposterous! He isn’t talking. Clouds can’t talk.

The silver man’s lips twitch in amusement again. “Of course they can’t. Let's get back on track. Did you choose to attack Pavel because he was a Croatoan?”

He doesn’t know what that means. Should croatoan mean something to him? He’s never heard the word before. Is it some kind of gang? It must be. And they took on the bloody _Bratva_ yesterday! Men with the story of their life inked onto their skin for all to see―like picture-books for kids. Stupid. How could you expect to blend in when you were painted, _branded_ , all over? But it had been _soo_ exciting! The danger of it bringing life from grey to full technicolour. 

The silver man grunts and studies him quietly for a while, still squatting in front of him. Lucky thing too―or Cas might have lost the ability to focus on him. He’d just fade into the swirling colours that made up everything Cas isn’t looking at and he likes looking at the silver man. Even now it’s hard to not be distracted and look away. The man seems to know this and moves closer, resting his arms casually on Cas’ thighs. Cas immediately pays full attention as body contact is made, once again getting lost in musings about the many beautiful, metallic hues of the man’s eyes. It makes the man’s lips twitch in amusement.

”Who do you work for?”

Well, that is a stupid question. Why would he ask that? He knows the answer to that already. He obviously works for the silver man. He’d said he’d tell Cas his name if he survived the job. Cas still doesn’t know his name and is still alive, which must mean they are still on the job. Thus, he works for the silver man. No mystery there.

That elicits another amused chuckle from the man. “My name is Aleksandr Chaadayev,” he offers.

Aleksandr. That’s a beautiful name. A bit long… but beautiful.

”You can call me Sasha too, I’m fine with both. So what’s your name?”

A name. He had a name. He must have. Everybody does. Except he doesn’t exist. He had ceased to be. And only things that exist have names. He is nobody and no one drifting in a world without colour, with only the sound of seconds ticking by uselessly. But that isn’t true now, is it? Yesterday Dmitri Krushnic came to vibrant life, and colour hadn’t faded since. Sasha had brought him purpose, excitement, colour, and muted the sound of ticking clocks. So that’s who he is. Dmitri Krushnic.

”Having a bit of existential crisis, do you? That’s fine, Dmitri. Everybody does. How old are you?”

Dmitri Krushnic is 22 years old. Born and raised in Moscow. His father is an unemployed drunk and his mother died when he was very young. An old teacher was his biggest role model, but it didn’t stop him from raising Hell and seeking out trouble. He’d stepped onto a bus on a whim, escaping a girl who wanted to marry him. That’s how he ended up here.

The questions go on for a while longer and Cas remains totally unaware he is thinking out loud. Too high on whatever pills Sasha had given him to even wonder why Sasha responds to his thoughts. Whatever answers he gives they seem to satisfy the older man. The bag of frozen peas he is holding to his head is then removed from his hand and once again Sasha hoists him up over a shoulder and carries him to the room where he is dumped on the bed. He drifts off to sleep almost immediately.

* * *

The next time he wakes up it’s by a gentle poke in the ribs, the smell of coffee, and a blinding headache. He groans and opens his eyes. The silver man is squatting a safe distance away and poking him with a broomstick. On the floor beside his mattress, there are two pills and a mug of coffee. He doesn’t waste any time popping the pills and downing them with the coffee. The silver man―no wait― _Sasha_ (?) laughs at him. Cas squints at him. The light seems too bright, trying to make his brain pound through his skull.

”Sasha?” he asks tentatively. Sasha nods, amused, and Cas groans again. “I just kept rambling, didn’t I?”

Another nod. “Yes, you did. I must say, I’ve never heard anyone wax so poetically about my eyes before,” Sasha grins.

Cas smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well in my defence, they are very beautiful.”

”You still think so?” Sasha looks surprised.

Cas frowns. “Of course. I said so yesterday already, didn’t I? Besides, didn’t you give me some kind of truth serum?”

Sasha shrugs, seemingly unaffected except his cheeks turning a bit pink. “Something like that. This time you only got painkillers, though. Do you play football?”

”Hand-egg football or football-football?” Cas counters and lays his head back on the pillow, waiting for the pills to kick in.

Sasha chuckles. “Soccer football,” he clarifies.

”Yes, I do.”

”Good, because we got a game in one and a half hours.”

Another long-suffering groan escapes Cas. “One shouldn’t exert oneself with a concussion.”

”You overestimate my concern for your well being.”

That makes Cas grin. “Ah, but you like me, Sasha. Admit it. That’s why I’m still alive despite bashing your friend up.”

”I wouldn’t call him a friend. A colleague. But yes. You do have qualities I like. That’s why I’m taking you with me to the game. To see if you’re worth keeping around.”

That sends a jolt of exhilaration through Cas. This does not have to end. The headache be damned, he’d show Sasha his worth! “Well then, football it is.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the painkillers to take hold. Whoever supplied Sasha had some good stuff. His brain felt a little spongy and slow on the uptake, but he hardly felt any pain and had a wonderful feeling of contentment. They went to play a friendly game with a bunch of other men who also had ‘Croatoan’ etched on their arm. Some with ink in it like Pavel had, and some with just scarring to show for it like Sasha. They acted as if Cas’ appearance was nothing out of the ordinary and didn’t ask any questions. Cas had always had a talent for sports. Sports without props most of all, but balls and other sport related toys were the only toys he was allowed when growing up so he held his own, making one goal. He preened under Sasha’s praise, eager to please. He didn’t ask what croatoan meant or who they were. It was not of import. His aim had shifted into making Sasha want to keep him on.

Sasha told him to wait in the car afterwards. Cas could see him discuss with three of the other guys. Frequent looks over to the car made it clear he was the point of discussion. When Sasha came back he sat and studied Cas for a long time. He seemed to be waiting for Cas to speak. Cas had a million questions. Most prominent of those was ‘ _What’s the verdict_?’ but he didn’t ask. He’d get the answer sooner or later. Then Sasha seemed to mentally shrug. “So, Goldi. How about pizza for dinner?” And that was that.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment? Oh and go follow [the Volatile Chemistry blog](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. I'll be posting anything related to this fic there. Possibly including outtakes that didn't make the main fic because they were not of import to the plot. Any announcements about this fic will be made there too, and while I may reblog some of it to my own Tumblr, I won't reblog everything. Just so you know.


	58. Lessons in life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas continues to tell Lucifer about what he knows of the Porodica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**GOSSIP**

* * *

Probably 6 years ago… (2007/2008)

The following weeks turn into a series of tests and evaluations. It isn’t said aloud, but Cas knows it for what it is. No day is the same. He’s locked up in the same room every night and goes willingly. Later on, the door remains unlocked. By then he could probably have walked out of there without fear of retribution, but he wants to stay. He doesn’t have any trouble falling asleep and the clock doesn’t bother him.

Not even magic could have turned Cas into a pleasant person to wake, but it becomes something of a game between them, and sometimes Cas will play up his bad morning temper just for the hell of it. Usually, he’s woken by a prod with the broomstick, a waiting cup of coffee and a “Good morning, princess,” or a “Wake up, sleeping beauty.” Sometimes Sasha will turn the wakeup call nasty, although Cas only wins the ensuing fight once. That time he’s woken by a bucket of ice water being dumped over him and he goes ballistic. Once he takes the man out with a choke hold he carries Sasha’s unconscious form to his bedroom, lays him on the bed, crawls in with him and curls protectively around him. Cas doesn’t fall asleep then, just drifts half-consciously with one ear open to shifts in the other man’s breathing. He knows instantly when Sasha comes to, but Sasha feigns unconsciousness for another five minutes before he admits it by groaning. Cas slides out of bed and makes them breakfast without a word.

They develop an easy rapport. Cas does everything he can to please him, trying to make himself indispensable for Sasha. That does not always mean obeying or being polite. No, Cas caters to his _needs_ instead. He constantly sasses him and doesn’t hold back impulses that people find weird, like with the old Pez-dispenser, wearing the tiara unless specifically told not to, or sniffing and tasting more or less anything (including Sasha himself, to the older man’s annoyance). It keeps Sasha entertained. Sasha likes the sass, the grumpiness, the quirks, and occasional dorkiness. There are long stretches of silence but they are never awkward. Cas doesn’t want to be seen as purely useful. He wants to be someone special to Sasha. Because it doesn’t take long for Cas to view him as something of a saviour. The anger that had been ever-present only surfaces when needed, the restlessness is all but gone, clocks and other ticking noises no longer haunt him. Sasha gives him purpose, renders thinking about the future unnecessary, and is a strong, competent leader that Cas can respect. All of a sudden he has goals again. Granted, he doesn’t know what the next goal is until the assignment is given, but that doesn’t matter. It isn’t the Olympics. It’s about pleasing Sasha; making him proud, that is the goal. 

They do jobs almost every day. Sometimes it’s to collect debts, steal something, guard something, stake someone out. Their objectives vary. Their main objective seems to be catching dangerous people that don’t want to be caught and deliver them to the house from the first night. The higher the danger level―the more Cas enjoys it.

* * *

Sasha hates stakeouts. Tedious and boring. Today their objective is to make sure their target doesn’t leave the building and to take note of everyone else who comes and goes. Sasha’s body is stiff and aching from sitting still for too long. It doesn’t help that Wonderboy beside him keeps quiet and focusses on the task at hand. You can practically see him filing away every little detail, from a curtain stirring in the building to when a dog barks in the distance. They’ve been here for four hours already. Sasha wouldn’t be surprised if Dmitri can tell the exact time for every particular detail too. He has a scarily accurate internal clock and the memory of an elephant.

”What time did the rat scurry across the street?”

”14:53,” Dmitri answers without breaking his focus.

”And that lady with the little yappy dog, when did she pass?”

”13:22 one way. 13:47 on her way back.”

_See?_ That’s what he’s talking about. The only reason they are here is that Sasha wants to recruit Dmitri and therefore has to test him out. See what strengths and weaknesses he has. Discern if there are any hidden loyalties. Apart from being stark raving mad, the list of weaknesses is surprisingly short. “Mad” made up for it. Too trusting is another dot on the list. And then there is the drugs. Dmitri obviously enjoys any kind of drug. In fact, to alleviate some of the boredom Sasha’s going to prove his point about those two dots on the list. He digs up a little package with an assortment of pills out of his jacket and chooses one.

”Open your mouth.”

Dmitri keeps his eyes on the building but twists his head towards Sasha, he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue without so much as a question. _That_ is stupid and unexplainable. Last time Sasha did this he had given him a drug that caused pain, hallucinations, and muscle spasms just for the hell of it. Yet Dmitri doesn’t even hesitate to take what he is given. One would think he at least would ask ‘ _Why?_ ’, but no. And he suspects that Dmitri would take ‘ _I’m bored and want to see how you react_ ’ as a valid reason. The only good thing is that Goldilocks only accepts drugs from him. He’d tested that theory out as well. Made sure Goldi was approached by pushers offering free samples when they went to bars. Asked colleagues to offer or try to order Dmitri to take something when they met up either for a job or for football. Dmitri only accepts it from Sasha. He admits to himself that he enjoys that part. 

Sasha places the pill on the waiting tongue and grunts in displeasure as Dmitri’s mouth close around his fingers like a wet fly trap before he has a chance to withdraw them. _Fair enough._ Sasha isn’t the only one doing tests and any time he himself pushes the limits like now, Dmitri pushes right back. His fingers get a flick of wet, warm tongue before they’re free of Dmitri’s mouth and he can dry them off on his jeans. It’s not something they talk about. Sasha has never actually had a man come on to him before, so he is not sure if that’s what Goldi is up to or not. He may just be messing with Sasha any time he breaks personal boundaries like that since he does it in such businesslike manner. It makes Sasha uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how he feels about that kind of attention from Goldi. 

Dmitri hasn’t asked for payment but Sasha makes sure money keeps rolling in for the both of them. Sasha is a simple man with simple needs. A good lay now and then, not having to care about food and shelter, and good company. He doesn’t care much for luxuries. If he did―the _Porodica_ would provide them. The _Porodica_ caters to the Croatoans’ every need in return for their service. The better you are, the better the reward. He hasn’t really been able to figure out what needs Dmitri needs fulfilling yet. It’s an important bit of knowledge if he is going to present him to a Бог брат for acceptance. Of course, he could just keep the guy on as your everyday henchman, but it would be a waste. The man has the heart and skills of a Croatoan. Too damned good to be a “ _mudmonkey_ ”.

”You _do_ know that they know we’re here, right?” Dmitri says suddenly.

Sasha snorts. Of course he knows. Aside from the telling recurring nervous peeking through curtains on the second floor, Sasha has the full rundown on the mission while Dmitri works with less than need-to-know knowledge. It’s been three weeks. It feels like they’ve worked together for years. In theory it’s too early to start filling the guy in. But theory is for philosophers, something Sasha isn’t. Maybe it’s time to go with his gut feeling and start portioning out some actual information. “I know, princess. Our target belongs to an opposing criminal faction and is set to take the witness stand against our employer. Our objective is just to make sure he doesn’t dash off into hiding. He has at least ten heavily armed bodyguards in there. But it’s highly unlikely they’ll try to leave. We’re stuck being bored to death here for two more hours.”

”I’m not bored.”

”I’d appreciate if you keep quiet about that once you meet our employer or we might get stuck with doing more of this as long as the two of us are paired together.”

Dmitri jerks and throws him a troubled look. _For what_? Sasha doesn’t know. He allows himself to think it is the implication that Dmitri may have to work with someone else. The dog-like loyalty and grumpy affection he bestows on Sasha is odd, flattering (misplaced too―he might like the guy, but he’d still kill him in a heartbeat if he misstepped) and makes him feel revered like a Бог брат. The way Dmitri looks at him sometimes strokes his ego. Sasha shifts in his seat, trying to alleviate some of the aches in his back again. He is too old for this kind of work. This sitting still for hours thing.

”Soo….” Dmitri says thoughtfully after a while, “...what’s stopping them from coming out guns ablaze and just shoot us and the car to bits?”

Sasha shrugs disinterestedly. “Physically? Nothing. Just fear of our employer in general.” They are there as window dressing really. A show of power in a mind game. 

Silence falls again and Dmitri goes back to keeping his vigil. But something has shifted and it’s too early for the drug to have kicked in. Sasha looks him over and spots the bulge in his jeans that wasn’t there a moment earlier. “You can relax. It’s highly unlikely we’re going to see any kind of action here today. You’re not going to be fighting or killing anyone anytime soon,” Sasha tells him, thinking it won’t take long for the erection to die down when the promise of violence is out of the way.

”I know.”

After ten minutes Dmitri’s facial features have softened in response to the drug, but he appears to be just as rock hard as before. That makes Sasha thinks he has misjudged his chosen protegé. He had taken it that it was the violence, or the act of killing, that turns the younger man on. After all, that is very, _very_ common both amongst the Бог братs and the Croatoans. It takes a special kind of person to lead the lives they do. Especially since the Бог братs are mad, and they follow them willingly. But, thinking back on what he’d said and what triggered the reaction… Sasha chuckles. “It’s the risk of _getting killed_ that turns you on?” he asks with a grin.

Dmitri’s eyes flick to his and the young man blushes a deep crimson. “It makes me feel alive. This,” he gestures at his crotch, “I have no control over,” he admits and looks away again, but his focus on the task is gone. 

Dmitri is self-conscious about it too, which is a first. He hasn’t appeared to be self-conscious about anything. Going about his business like it’s nobody's damned business unless he chooses to make it so. To a degree, Sasha can relate. The rush of adrenaline and thrill during the more dangerous jobs is something he enjoys. Pair this bit of information with the drugged ramblings about not existing, a missing piece of the puzzle that is Dmitri suddenly falls into place. “I thought it was hurting people that turned you on.”

”I do not particularly enjoy causing pain to people, no,” Dmitri says sounding prim. His tone of voice makes Sasha laugh.

”It’s a simple assumption to make. You certainly went to town when we went to collect from that guy last week,” Sasha says. They had been to either pick up payment or punish a man for not paying. (Another one of those jobs far beneath a Croatoan that they did because Sasha wants to feel Dmitri out.) The man had pulled a gun on them and it cost him his life. Dmitri was fast, and so was the fight. But then Dmitri just kept hitting, _and hitting_ , face blank except for eyes burning cold. Just like he had done to Pavel the night they met. 

”You didn’t tell me to stop,” Dmitri says matter-of-factly. A lock of his hair with those golden highlights falls into his face. A testament to the drug kicking in is that instead of pushing it into place behind his ear, Dmitri blows sharply upward to get the hair out of his face. It falls right back again, so Dmitri repeats the process over and over while trying to keep track of the movements in the building.

Sasha watches with an amused smile. He decides he’s seen enough of how Dmitri handles stakeouts, and watching the man be high is much more fun, so he shoots a text away to a regular mudmonkey pawn, pulling rank. The replacement car is there within five minutes. He starts the car and drives off, intending to head to town and just hang out with Dmitri instead. Making the younger man high―despite how undesirable ‘doing drugs’ is, as a trait for Croatoans―has become a favourite pastime to Sasha. It may or may not have something to do with the blatant displays of worship Dmitri is prone to in that state. Sasha doesn’t dwell on the reason very much. 

After a couple of minutes, he pulls over. Dmitri is still trying to blow the hair out of his face, going cross-eyed watching the lock every time it falls back down. Sasha reaches back and digs out Dmitri’s tiara from the back seat. “Here you go, princess,” he says, placing the tiara on top of the man’s head, making sure to capture the stray lock with it. He maybe does it just as an excuse to touch the younger man’s soft hair. Dmitri doesn’t call him out on it.

* * *

During the course of the first four weeks, there are tests and things that happen that stand out. Sasha leaves Dmitri locked in his room with only a bucket and a one-liter bottle of water and goes away for two days during the first week. The third morning when he comes back he wakes the younger man up with the broomstick and coffee. Dmitri is clearly affected by the treatment but shows no sign of having tried to escape, nor does he comment or in any way acknowledge that he has been left alone in a bare room without food for two days. The bucket has been utilized as a toilet and there’s a tiny amount of water left. Sasha finds the easy acceptance of the treatment odd.

When they go shopping Dmitri shoplifts snacks, sometimes toys too. But mostly snacks and often things Sasha has shown himself to like. These are offered as gifts to Sasha at random afterwards. Sasha never actually _sees_ him steal. The most notable of these instances is when Dmitri manages to steal a shotgun the store clerk has behind the counter while the clerk himself is behind it, taking payment from Sasha. It’s a dazzling display of stealth. When he’s offered the shotgun in the car afterwards Sasha can’t help but shower the young man with praise. Dmitri visibly preens under it and looks at Sasha as if _he_ is the one who just performed a small miracle. Sasha is both made vastly uncomfortable by this dog-like behaviour and at the same time, he revels in it. That is the only time Dmitri voluntarily touches a firearm. 

Even after Dmitri is allowed weapons again and offered a gun he won’t take one. He insists on carrying his slingshot and marbles instead. Sasha is okay with that. It goes on the list of cons but Dmitri makes up for it with quick, creative thinking that gains him an edge. Sasha would rather have that bright mind at his side, than a dozen average shooters.

By the fifth week, something happens that makes Sasha see Dmitri differently. It’s not a drill or a test. Four masked men, belonging to some small-time street gang who don’t know they are dealing with the _Porodica_ (and possibly don’t know the _Porodica_ even exist), break into the apartment seeking revenge for something in the early morning hours just after dawn. Sasha barely wakes up in time to see Dmitri slay the two men who had gotten into his bedroom preparing to shoot him. The word is “slay”, full fury unleashed. Then Dmitri stands there, covered in blood, his naked chest heaving and eyes black, looking him over. Once he has established Sasha is unharmed he growls out, “I won’t let them hurt you,” and turns on his heel, leaving the bedroom.

Sasha never finds out exactly what happened. He saw the bodies, though. One in the living room, and one in Dmitri’s bedroom. They rarely speak of the young man’s ability to be creative when it comes to weapons. His room is bare except for the mattress — it’s just bedding and a plastic clock on the wall. The clock has been used as a weapon. The plastic cover of the clock face has been split in the middle and used as knives. The batteries thrown as missiles. The body in the living room is stabbed in the jugular with Dmitri’s tiara. The tiara is thrown away by the cleanup crew Sasha sends for. He kind of misses it.

Something is different in how he sees the young man after that incident. While Dmitri’s occasional display of worship was flattering before, the fierce protectiveness has struck a chord in Sasha. He finds himself not liking to be apart from Dmitri, and wanting to be able to confide more than he is allowed. Three days after the incident Dmitri takes a blow to the head. Instead of giving him a painkiller in his hand Sasha puts it directly in his mouth and doesn’t retract his fingers at once when Dmitri’s lips close around them. For five seconds he lets them linger, feels the young man taste them with his tongue and graze them lightly with his teeth. Afterwards, he feels awfully discomforted, unable to figure out why he acted that way. He’s vaguely repulsed by the fact that he didn’t find it unpleasant. He also starts to be a bit discomforted when Dmitri has little or no clothes on, something that hasn’t bothered him before. Dmitri himself acts like he always has, no change there. Sasha discovers that he all of a sudden has put one hundred percent of his trust in the younger man. It is time to ask permission from a Бог брат to start Dmitri’s initiation.

* * *

Today… 

“You seduced him, didn’t you?” Lucifer grins.

They’re both drunk now, Luci sprawled over the couch, legs in Castiel’s lap while Cas is leaning forward, mixing a drink on the table. A cigarette hangs between Cas’ lips while he talks. The normal non-smoking policy Luci kept in his quarters was temporarily lifted when Cas wanted to take a break to go outside to smoke. Instead, Luci conjured both ashtray and cigarettes from a cabinet. He kept it because offering cigarettes to a smoker is generally a huge shortcut when you seek information — he doesn’t smoke himself.

Cas giggles. “I did no such thing!”

Luci pushes him with his foot. “Come _ooon_ , admit it. You slept with him.”

Cas’ cheeks get a brighter colour. “You’re jumping ahead in the story.” He grins. “I didn’t seduce him _per se_. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He mashes the cigarette in the ashtray, most of it burned up unsmoked anyway while he mixed the drink from any fruity booze Luci had to offer. He lights another one before he leans back on the couch again, drink in hand.

Luci sniggers and sips his own vodka tonic. “Of course you would. Have you been listening to yourself? You had a crush on the man. And I know for a fact Aleksandr didn’t swing that way when I knew him,” he smirks.

”It’s so weird to think you know Sasha. I know he did a couple of rounds teaching at the Heart, but I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he taught _you._ ” Sasha had worked in _Otac’s_ house three different rounds teaching the kids his two main talents—firearms, and how to work with drugs and poisons. Not the production of it or about the crap sold on the street―but how to use drugs, medical or otherwise, to get a wanted effect on a person. Anything from truth-telling, pain, fear, bliss, sleep, to instant death.

”What’s weird is to hear you use expressions that only Croats use. ‘The Heart’? Nobody but Croats call our home that. But now you're trying to get off topic. I still say you seduced him because you had a crush on him.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully and takes a deep drag on the cig. “It’s like you haven’t heard a word I said,” he answers with a smile, smoke leaking out of his mouth while he talks. “I didn’t have a crush on him. I worshipped him like he was the Messiah. I put him on a pedestal and myself far beneath. He was a substitute for Father even if I didn’t see it back then. I was only nineteen at the time and had been dead inside for years, then suddenly I had life again. I used sex as a tool to control people. Therefore I wouldn’t seduce him. I wanted _him_ to control me, to be pleased with me, to _keep_ me.” Cas takes a big swig of his drink and stares at the glass, distracted. He sniffs the drink, takes another big chug and concludes “This doesn’t taste very good,” before he drinks it all up and Luci chortles at him for being silly. 

”Stop procrastinating. Give me details!” Luci shoves him with his foot again.

”Alright, alright. I met your brother, whatever-his-name-was, cherubic face, same colours as you―” Cas gestures with a finger between hair and eyes to indicate the colours he’s talking about.

”Babyface, we call him,” Luci interjects.

”Right. To me, he was just ‘the Бог брат’. He gave his go ahead and Sasha started to educate me about the _Porodica_ and what it was to be a Croatoan. We still did jobs, but once he carved in the ‘C’ the jobs we did were more in line with the title…”

* * *

Probably 6 years ago… (2007/2008)

Croatoans, Castiel learned, are the hammers of the _Porodica_. If the Sin-Božji family is the royalty, the Croatoans are the knights that make such a big empire possible. The most loyal, skilled, and cunning. The way Cas is recruited is very uncommon. Usually, they are chosen out of people already working for the syndicate who have proven themselves worthy over a long stretch of time. People who, just like Sasha, have no ambition to rule by themselves, but enjoy the lifestyle and the comforts that come with it. The Sin-Božji family takes good care of their fierce attack dogs. They don’t try to mold them all into one shape, they know to place the right talents in the right place. That’s why Sasha isn’t all that bothered by Cas’ aversion to guns. 

Croatoans are treated with a high amount of trust and respect. They act as bodyguards for the family and take care of the assignments that can’t be trusted upon lesser underlings. The one thing they all have in common is that they are ruthless killers. Sasha tells Cas that the Sin-Božji family are all―in one capacity or another―stark, raving mad. (Cas doubts that sentiment until he spent some time with the Бог брат.) He adds, with good humour, that Cas will fit right in. He has a lot of good things to say about them too, though. He speaks reverently about the family for their intelligence, organisation, power, and ruthlessness. Cas drinks in all the knowledge he’s given, like a sponge. Yet his devotion is given to the silver man alone even if he doesn’t voice that.

To mark him as a Croatoan-in-training Sasha carves a simple ‘C’ on Cas’ shoulder. He uses a thin razor sharp blade and repeats the carving once a week. He’s very gentle about it.

* * *

Today… 

“You’re holding stuff back. What is it you’re not telling me?” Lucifer says and takes another sip of his drink. The whites of his eyes are red, eyelids heavier than usual, but even with the drunk glaze over his eyes they are sharp and knowing.

And Cas _is_ holding stuff back. Cas hadn’t seduced Sasha. That didn’t mean their relationship hadn’t gone x-rated at times. Cas gestures with his cigarette (he has almost worked his way through a whole pack by now) towards Luci. “Oh shush. Don’t be bothersome! You asked me to tell you all I know about the _Porodica_ and now you just want gossip,” he admonishes. In a way it makes sense. Sasha had explained that the Бога браћа are very close. As siblings go, they’re closer than most and when they’re together they drop their masks to just be ‘silly kids,’ as the older Croatoan had expressed it. Luci has been deprived of that since Michael left and possibly since before that. He is probably starving for some good ‘ol gossip about someone he knew, growing up. That doesn’t mean Cas is ready to share all those details at this moment, not after being accused of seducing Sasha when―if you looked crassly at it―it was the other way around. “Maybe you should ask _him_ for the juicy details instead,” Cas says in a snarky tone.

Luci stares at him blankly for a moment. Then a devilish smirk spreads across his face. He puts his drink down on the table and picks up his phone from beside it. “Maybe I will,” he says teasingly.

Cas has the presence of mind to ditch his cig in the ashtray before he launches himself at Luci trying to snatch the phone from his hands. “Luci, NO!”

They roll onto the floor wrestling for the phone, Luci laughing and Cas frantic, until Cas finally manages to conquer the horror-causing object.

”You actually have his phone number?” Cas asks dubiously when he crawls back up on the couch.

Luci sniggers and remains lying on the floor. “Of course not. Croats go through burner phones like other people go through underwear.” He sits up, grinning. “I _could_ get it easily enough, though.”

Cas squeezes the phone protectively closer to himself. “Luci, no. Please don’t.”

Luci laughs again and crawls back on the couch. “Why not? Did you part on bad terms?”

”Aside from the fact that I faked my own death to get away? Not in so many words, no,” Cas says dryly and Luci cackles in delight.

”You think you got away with it?" Luci asks once he has stopped laughing.

Cas shakes his head tiredly. "No. Not really." He doubts Sasha had bought it. Maybe? Who knows.

"Let’s check." Lucifer heaves himself up and stumbles away to get his laptop. Cas grins, amused at seeing him so drunk. Luci comes back and falls back on the couch with a heavy thud. He lays down, using Cas’ lap as a pillow, providing Cas with a full view of the screen. Clicking away on the laptop it doesn't take long for him to find what he is looking for. It looks just like a site for crop statistics. It obviously isn't. "You can thank Aleksandr the next time you meet him. According to this he shot and killed Dmitri Krushnic a few months after you had your hockey debut in Sweden."

_Huh. Well that’s interesting._ Sasha hadn’t bought it but decided to cover for him once he came out of hiding? "You keep registers over the Croatoans?” Cas asks.

“It’s more complicated than that. But yes."

"Is Sasha still alive?" Cas can’t help but ask. It’s like poking at a tooth cavity that doesn’t hurt anymore, but knowing it’s there makes your tongue drawn to it.

Lucifer goes to another website about weather patterns. "Yes. Currently stationed in Columbia." They’re both quiet for a while, then Luci tilts his head up to look at Cas. "If you didn't know you got away with it, why didn't you stay in hiding?” 

Cas shrugs and reaches for the pack of cigarettes. Luci grabs the lighter and lights the cigarette for him. "I didn’t actually hide once I got out of Russia. I didn’t even avoid the _Porodica_ either when I ran into their activity. And once I knew what to look for it became clear to me exactly how widespread your activities are.” Cas inhales deeply from his cig. A bad habit, smoking like this, but sometimes worth the indulgence. “Remember, I changed my name, location, and appearance all the time. Plus I didn’t move in any predictable patterns. Unless I ran into a Croatoan I actually knew, no-one would recognise me. Add to that that Sasha’s nickname for me―Goldilocks―stuck, so everyone I knew from that time called me that, and chances were very slim they’d recognise me. I got my nickname from my hair so the first thing I did was shave it off. But to be honest, I didn’t care enough to be afraid once I was out of it. Even if fear was what made me run.”

* * *

Probably 6 years ago… (2008) 

The more Cas learns about the _Porodica_ , the more frightening he finds it to be a part of. Mainly due to the horrific punishments bestowed upon those who deceive the syndicate. He’s reminded that he himself is deceiving the _Porodica_. They pick up a man that crossed the _Porodica_ and allow Cas to be present during his punishment. Even with Castiel’s very limited ability to feel compassion his insides rebel at what the man is subjected to and he’s hard-pressed to keep a straight face and not interfere. The Бог брат takes care of the punishment himself and the reason why Sasha claims the Sin-Božji family are mad becomes painstakingly clear. Cas is bone-chillingly frightened. And not in an exciting way.

One night after a successful hit Sasha gives him a pill as he will do sometimes. Despite the various effects the stuff he’s given has on him he doesn’t question or ask about it. Since Cas is already riding a near-death high his mind is blown right out of the sky. He wakes up without any recollection of the last couple of hours. He’s lying draped over the older man’s sleeping body, blissed out and content with life. He doesn’t wonder how they had ended up like that, or what they’d done. This is perfect. The affection and love he feels, endless. He wants to give every little piece of himself to Sasha and in one weak moment, he almost whispers “Castiel” in his mentor’s ear, wanting to tell him his true name.

It hits him then, that if he stays, he can never again acknowledge his past or he'll be caught lying to the most dangerous people he's ever come across. He’ll die a very painful and horrible death. If he stays, Castiel will forever be dead and only Dmitri will remain. Meg would never have existed in his life, nor Father. He’d left home with a goal of once again feeling alive again and while he felt alive here, it’s an illusion. _It is just an illusion._ It’s too late to come clean. The room seems cold all of a sudden. And a sound he hasn’t heard for almost four months makes itself known. The _tick, tick, tick_ of the clock on Sasha’s bedside table bounce between the walls like it’s being played with loudspeakers. Once again the world fades to gray. Sleep eludes him and his stomach is in knots. That anger, sorrow and desperation that had lain dormant springs back to life in full force. He’d found a life, a home, and learned to love someone again. But it isn’t _his_ life―it’s Dimitri’s. 

The next morning Sasha goes on a solo mission. Cas catches some poor asshole with a vague resemblance to himself and drags him to the apartment. He chokes the guy into unconsciousness, puts one of Sasha’s guns to the man’s forehead and pulls the trigger―hoping his own aversion to guns will make it seem less suspicious. He shaves his own hair, then he sets the apartment on fire. Once out of the building he acquires a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a studded leather jacket, and hightails it to England.

* * *

Today… 

”There’s soo much you’re not telling me,” Luci whines.

Cas chuckles. “Some other time. Now it’s your turn. I want to hear how Sam got mixed up with your lot and what happened between your family and you.”

Luci purses his lips and hums thoughtfully. Then he closes his eyes and starts talking…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that are curious about Sasha and Cas there's a collection of timestamps - [The Croatoan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3201401/chapters/6962162). They are not necessary to read to get the plot in Volatile Chemistry as they officially happen "off camera" so to speak.  
> It also delves into Sasha's own story, and allows us to get up close and personal with Mikey.  
> [Link for close up of Cas and Sasha](http://coplins.deviantart.com/art/Cas-and-Sasha-at-the-stake-out-detail-553977335). (no car or background)  
> Comments?


	59. Pick Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael scares Sam. Sam and Lucifer share a moment of respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Torture
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  This chapter was supposed to be the next one but since I'm currently multitasking and this chapter slipped out with more ease, you get some past Samfier now instead of later. I was supposed to give you some present rather than past but you know the muse does as the muse wants. IRL is still being a bit busy for me so I apologise for the long in coming updates.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
> However, if you aren't an author subscriber and only subscribe to the actual fic, you might not have noticed the timestamp collection for Cas/Sasha I released. It's called [The Croatoan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3201401/chapters/6962162) and depicts small moments of Cas' and Sasha's time together plus what happened for Sasha when Cas left. It's not things that are necessary to read to follow the plot in Volatile Chemistry.

* * *

**APRIL 16th 2008**

* * *

(Sam is 14, soon turning 15)

“Hey, Sweetling.” Sam nearly pisses himself when he hears the familiar voice coo behind his ear. Pure dread courses down his spine and he feels hot puffs of breath on his neck. His knee-jerk reaction is to shove himself away from the board of the rink he is leaning on and make a run for it. Before he can do that though, he’s pressed up against the board by the body of the speaker who puts his hands on either side of Sam, boxing him in. “Before you try anything stupid, look at your brother.” Sam does. He’d been watching the adult Free Will practise, barely taking his eyes of Dean until now. Looking at his brother now he spots a detail that had not been there before, and goes rigid. “That’s it, Sweetling. That little red dot is not a laser pointer. Look up to your left, near the rafters.” Sam does. Had he not been looking for it he would not have spotted the sniper.

“Michael, _please_ ,” he begs. His eyes sting. He would be ashamed of being so god damned afraid, if he wasn’t so god damned afraid. He feels so powerless to stop whatever is about to happen to him. If he somehow manages, _Dean_ will die. There’s nobody in the world more important to him.

Michael makes a pleased hum and leans his cheek against Sam’s. Sam can feel his smile. Sam’s standing stock still lest a movement would trigger the sniper to shoot. “That’s it, Sweetling. That’s what I want from you. I want you to beg. I want your screams. I want to see you cry.” He strokes hair out of Sam’s face and drags his lips along the back of Sam’s jaw up to his ear tenderly, “I’ll be gentle with you, Sweetling,” he whispers. “I won’t leave any lasting damages. Nothing that will scar that pretty face of yours. I want us to be acquainted for a very long time, Sam.”

”Fuck you,” Sam says. He can hear how choked up he sounds.

Michael chuckles and looks out over the ice. “Now, you see, Sweetling, that is not something that’s going to happen. There’ll be no fucking of any kind between us. So that’s something you don’t have to worry about. However, should you choose to oppose me, there are people close to you that can be made to _volunteer_ for that particular task.” Michael spins Sam around so that they’re chest to chest. Sam’s arms hang limply at his sides and he tries not to look at Michael. He tries hard not to hyperventilate. The board digs into his back. Michael cups his cheeks and tilts his head upward, forcing him to meet his eyes. The physical contact makes him want to flinch. “I’ve done my research now, Sweetling,” Michael strokes Sam’s hair out of his face in an affectionate gesture, “There’s Jo, and Ruby, and even Ellen. I must admit, Ellen is a little older than I usually go for, but she has quite a kick to her personality that I appreciate. I’d even make it good for her… to begin with.” Michael continuously strokes Sam’s hair tenderly. The look in his eyes is so loving and full of care. It is completely opposite of what it should be. Sam is fighting hard not to gag.

”And aside from that, Sam, we have Bobby, Gabriel, and that strapping young athlete you’ve started hanging out with. Do you know how far you can pull out entrails from a body without the person dying or passing out? Would you like to find out? Would you like for _them_ to find out? All you have to do is deny me, and they will. It’s your decision, sweet boy.”

Sam can’t fight the hot tears spilling out of his eyes or the silent sobs shaking his shoulders. Michael’s arms snake around him in an embrace, one hand cupping the back of his skull. He rocks Sam gently. “Schh… schhh… Hey, hey. It’s okay. If you just come with me nothing is going to happen to any of them, I promise. And I’m not going to do anything to you that is even remotely as bad as what they’d be subjected to. I’m so impressed by you, Sweetling. The things you keep being subjected to and you just keep bouncing back. You’re so strong and you don’t even realise. You’re _so_ resilient. I’m so proud of you. You should be proud of you too, Sam.” It’s sounds so genuine, the tone and the words. It’s a mockery of comfort just because Michael is the source of the things he is being subjected to. _How can he sound and look so sincere?_ That is easily just as frightening as the bad things he does.

Michael leans away slightly, looks down at Sam and rubs his finger over his cheeks, capturing his tears. He puts the finger in his mouth and looks at Sam again with such sad compassion and affection that Sam’s stomach clenches painfully and once again begs to empty itself. “So here is how it’s going to go, Sweetling. I’ve got my car parked just outside. I’m going to go outside and get into my car. From the moment I turn my back on you, you’ve got three minutes to decide either to follow, get into my car, and indulge me for a while, or to remain in here and let your brother take a bullet. It might not kill him. Or it may. It’s your decision whether you want to save your own skin or not. It’s all up to _you_. If you’re not sitting in my car when the three minutes are up, the order will go out to pull the trigger. Should you attack me or try to sound an alarm, the sniper will shoot your brother. Am I making myself clear?”

Sam can only nod, not trusting his voice to carry.

”Good. I hope to see you outside. I don’t want to harm your loved ones. I really don’t.” Michael kisses his forehead and then turns to walk towards the exit.

Sam gulps down air, it’s hard to get it past the lump in his throat. This is the seventh time he’s had a run in with Michael, all the previous times he has fought unless he was sedated. He throws one last look at Dean out on the ice and then turns to scurry towards the door Michael left from.

* * *

**MARCH 19th 2009**

* * *

(Sam is 15, soon turning 16)

The cuffs are broad. Made of leather and lined with soft lambs fleece not to leave marks. Same with the cuffs around his ankles that keep him from kicking out. His arms are stretched painfully upward, anchored by a chain in the roof and he has to stand on his toes not to hang entirely from his wrists. A button is pushed and an electric current tears through his body causing blinding pain. He’s quite sure he screams, but he can’t be sure as seemingly every muscle in his body contracts at the same time. It seems to go on forever. Then suddenly it stops and he hears the tail end of his own agonized wail. Tears streaming down his cheeks he gulps air and fumbles to get his footing again.

”What a perfect creature you are,” Michael says from a chair two strides away from Sam where he sits toying with a flip switch and marvelling at Sam. 

Sam struggles uselessly in his bonds. “Let me go, you rotten piece of shit! You fucking _monster_! Fucking motherfucking asshole!!” Sam rages at him, only getting a delighted chuckle for his futile efforts. 

“You know, most people would have broken by now. But not you. You realise how special you are?”

Sam whimpers. “Please, Michael, _please_ , let me go. Leave me alone. I’ll do anything... just … _Pleeeease_!” Sam sobs, tears continuously streaming. There’s no pride here. Only pain and moments of temporary relief. After a while, all you want is for it to stop and any word will pass your mouth.

Michael smiles a big sunshiny grin. “You say that now, Sweetling. Yet somehow I don’t believe you.” He gets up from the chair and puts the flipswitch down, making Sam sag with relief. If he isn’t holding it he can’t switch it on. Michael walks up to him, stopping less than a foot away, yet Sam can’t reach him. That doesn’t stop Sam from spitting him in the face and glaring. Michael just laughs. He licks Sam’s spit up that has landed around his mouth and Sam recoils, making a disgusted face that makes Michael laugh again. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He drags a hand over his face to remove the rest of the spit and dries it off on Sam’s naked chest. Sam flounces fruitlessly trying to avoid his touch. “So you’ll do anything, huh? How about you sing for me?”

”So I’ll get to punish you for a change?” Sam snarks.

Michaels laughs again. He looks so happy it nauseates Sam. ”You know we’ve been playing this game for nearly two years?”

”Great. We should celebrate our anniversary,” Sam answers voice laden with bitter sarcasm.

Michael ignores the sarcasm and nods. “Good idea, Sweetheart. I’ll think of something special for you by then.” Sam instantly regrets opening his mouth. Michael looks thoughtful for a while. “You really want a respite?”

”Yes!”

”I’ve got an offer for you then. Choose one person to take your spot the next time and I’ll leave you alone for, let's say, six months? You can choose between Dean, Bobby, Gabriel, Brady, Ellen, Jo, or Ruby. I’ll do to them whatever I was planning to do to you, which is to say, nothing that will kill them, hopefully. Then you’ve got six months of guaranteed freedom. What do you say, Sam?” Michael’s gaze has become extremely piercing, analyzing, studying Sam’s reaction in depth.

Sam can’t decide what is worst, that he considers it for a brief moment, that he immediately knows who he’d pick, or that he won’t do it which means he won’t get that wonderful respite being offered. He slumps in defeat. “Just keep flipping that switch, fuckface.”

”Fuckface?” Michael chuckles. “Almost two years Sam and all I’ve managed is to make your curses less polite. I better up my game, don’t you think?” Michael goes back to the chair and flips the switch.

* * *

Lucifer is sitting in his desk chair in Michael’s quarters when he comes back. “Luce! Wanna go pick up chicks?”

Lucifer snorts, not looking up from the notes he is writing. “Do I ever?” he answers dryly.

Michael falls into his own chair and makes it spin a lap. “Alright. But it’s more fun when you’re with me,” he says with an impish grin.

”For one of us, at least. You seem to be in a chipper mood. What’s up?”

”Just had me a little play session with the Winchester boy.”

_That_ makes Luci look up. His mind instantly supplies questions like ‘ _Is he okay?_ ’ and ‘ _What did you do?_ ’. “Dammit, Michael. We’ve been over this. I don’t like that you go for the locals. Why can’t you just leave the boy alone?” he says scowling.

”Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m telling you Luci, mudmonkey or not, this boy is special!” Michael lights up even more and doesn't pay any heed to Luci when he starts gushing. “It’s like he is unbreakable. Oh sure, he cries and begs like the rest of them, but it’s like he just bends instead of breaking. You see him one week later he has bounced right back again. He _should_ be flinching at shadows and wallow in depression, but he is not.” Mikey gestures enthusiastically with his hands while he talks. “I mean, you know what it does to people when they never know when they are going to be picked up again. When they never know what is going to happen and for how long they’ll have to endure. I lose more freerangers to suicide than I do by actual deed. And-and, I don’t know, Luci.” Michael is so excited he stutters. “T’s like he lives wholly in the now. Accepting, to a degree, what is happening to him, but puts it out of his mind as soon as he is let go. He’s fucking magnificent! He should be bitter and jaded, but watch him interact with his friends and he is not. Screw pain, Luci, I want to crack this boy’s mind!” Michael grins, eyes aglow.

Luci just scowls. “Get out of here, Mikey. Go get laid. I don’t want that energy directed at me.”

Mikey sniggers. “Alright, grumpy. Don’t wait up. I might make this a binge,” he says as he gets up and slaps Luci’s shoulder before he leaves.

Luci waits five minutes before he follows.

* * *

One thing Michael enjoyed doing was to take him to some goddam remote location and then just leave him there when they were done, trusting him to find his way home like he was some kind of friggin homing pigeon. _Michael can burn in Hell!_ He’s so pissed off right now, and feels soo humiliated. It never gets easier. At least now he only has a couple of red circular marks from where the electrodes had been fastened. No big black and blue bruises and no actual wounds to hide from Dean and explain away to hook ups. Michael had decreased his level of brute force violence lately and changed methods, doing things that left little to no marks. It isn’t better. It’s much more frightening when there are no marks there to justify the pain.

Muscles keeps randomly spasming as he walks and he wonders if it’ll be permanent. Michael had repeated his offer before he left. Name a friend to take his place for a “play session” and he’ll be free for six months guaranteed. _Hah! Yeah right. Like I’d ever do that._ What pisses him off more than anything right now, isn’t how powerless he feels about the whole situation. It’s how tempting the offer is when he is given a shred of power to influence what happens to him. It’s how, as soon as the offer was made, his mind had supplied a scale ranking the people of how deeply he cared, and spit out a name that means just _a tad bit less_ than all the others. _That_ pisses him off. It’s not like he thought about it, it just popped up. Thank God he hadn’t said anything! Just that Michael had made his brain go in that direction makes him want to strangle the bastard with barbed wire or something.

Sam actually thinks Michael would be true to his word too. He has some fucked up kind of self-righteous, twisted sense of honour, and when he told Sam one thing was going to be one way it ended up being that way. _Who the fuck is he anyway?!_ He had people working for him. Scary people. Ordinary bullies couldn’t pull a sniper out of their ass with a snap of their fingers. Ordinary people don’t have a bunch of grizzled looking armed goons with dead eyes at their beck and call.

He’s so tired of it all. Last time Michael sent goons to pick him up, he’d fought like a madman against them. As a result he’d been delivered with a black eye and a bleeding nose. Michael was not pleased. He’d backhanded one of those friggin goons hard, a man at least ten years his senior that must have been two meters tall, and all that happened was that the ogre had pleaded for forgiveness “ _Sir_ ”! Michael had dragged Sam inside and with a serious face asked him if he remembered their talk at the ice hall. Scared shitless on the inside but full of fire on the outside he’d answered “ _You said not to oppose_ you _, not to deny_ you _. You said nothing about taking shit from a bunch of dumb gorillas!_ ”. Michael had laughed and been pleased by that! He’d just accepted the loophole as if he himself wasn’t the one who made the rules. Yuck!

He was expecting to be in pain but his body is actually numb now, kind of tingling. A car comes driving behind him and slows down by his side. Sam knows who it is. He doesn’t even look before he turns towards it, yanks the door open and gets in, slamming the door hard. “Why don’t you stop this?! Why don’t you fucking _save me_?!” he yells angrily at the driver.

”I can’t,” Lucifer answers curtly.

”Bullshit! I know you can! You’re the only one who can. This isn’t fair. Okay? I _do not deserve_ this!”

Lucifer has that unreadable expression on his face. “No you don’t,” he agrees as they drive off.

Sam’s fuming and takes the opportunity to vent. “Goddam right I don’t! Why? Why me?! Fucking asshole! Today it was electricity. I fucking _peed myself_!” Sam gestures wildly while he talks and Lucifer divides his attention between him and the road. “Not because I was scared shitless, which I was, by the way, but oh, no. No! My bladder decided that electric current is a good reason to stop listening to my brain and just let go,” Sam say gesturing with both hands towards his crotch area and staring angrily at it in betrayal.

Lucifer’s lips curl into an amused little smile. “Yes, that happens. It’s normal.”

”Normal?!” Sam stares at him furiously. “So get this, you know what _isn’t normal_? To get an electrical current repeatedly forced through your body,” gesturing at his crotch with both hands again, “until you lose control of your bladder! That isn’t fucking normal, Lucifer.” Sam slams his fist in the dashboard a couple of times and growls in frustration. " _Lucky_ I wasn't wearing clothes at the time," he sneers in vehement sarcasm. “Oh. Oh. You know what else he did? He offered me to let someone I care about take my place the next time and he’d leave me be for half a year if I did. So if Dean, Bobby, Gabe, Ellen, Jo, Brady, or Ruby was subjected to my treatment, I’d be off the hook for six months.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that’s good.”

”How the hell is that good?”

”Just throw Ruby under the bus. She’s a piece of worthless junkie trash anyway,” Lucifer says with a dismissive shrug.

It sends a jolt of guilt through Sam that Ruby was the one he’d thought of. It doesn’t lessen his anger though. “That doesn’t mean she deserves this anymore than I do! And she’s my _friend_. I won’t do it!”

Lucifer hums. “She isn’t, though. She is a sexy girl with a lot of issues that hangs with you because you’re one of the cool kids and it gives her more status. She’d throw you under the bus to save herself in the blink of an eye if the roles were reversed. Don’t confuse a good lay with friendship.”

Sam clenches his jaws but doesn’t say anything. There had been small incidents lately that makes him suspect Lucifer is right.

”Has she offered you drugs yet? Don’t lie, I’ll know if you do.”

”Not... Not really,” Sam grouses. “But she no longer hides the fact that she uses them.”

”Well, she will. Soon, is my prediction.”

”That’s not the point!” Sam raises his voice again. “It doesn’t matter if she will stab me in the back with a friggin needle and inject me with shit. The point is; _I’m not going to use her as a sacrifice!_ Michael is a friggin monster, and I’m not gonna be like him, okay?”

”And what do you think I am, Sammy? Huh? Tell me, I’d like to know.”

Sam makes an irritated noise of frustration. “You’re nothing like him!”

”I’m _exactly_ like him, Sammy. We’re cut from the same cloth. The only difference is I break some rules that he doesn’t, and I don’t take pleasure in the same things that he does.” Lucifer gives him an earnest look before returning his gaze to the road.

”But he is a monster!”

”It's possible there's a little monster in all of us. I say, let yours out and give yourself a little respite.”

”Yeah? Just like that?” Sam sneers. “How would you even see me after that?”

”Like I always do, Sammy. Like a shining beacon of radiant life and light,” Lucifer says matter of factly without looking away from the road.

”Yeah. Well. I wouldn’t,” Sam says grumpily. 

”You don’t think you could sacrifice someone?” Lucifer asks curiously.

”Hell yeah I could. If it was Dean on the line. Or Bobby, or you, or Gabe, or Ellen or anyone else I cared about. I’d either trade places with them or sacrifice someone not close to me. But not to save my own skin.” Sam isn’t even aware he slipped in Lucifer amongst those he mentioned. He catches Lucifer contemplatively side-eying him with pursed lips. They pass the town limit and suddenly Sam doesn’t want to go home. Like, _at all_. He turns towards Lucifer. “Take me somewhere.”

”Where do you want to go?”

”I dunno. Nowhere. _Anywhere_.”

Lucifer smirks and does a sharp U-turn. Then they’re going back the same way they came.

”And get me some booze,” Sam demands grumpily. His anger has faded to general pissiness during the discussion and he wants to stop thinking about all this crap.

Lucifer sniggers. “You think that’s going to help chase your troubles away?”

”Seems to work well enough for Dean,” Sam counters and Lucifer burst into laughter.

”Fair enough,” Lucifer concedes, amused.

They drive in silence for a while, Sam locked in his own little thunder cloud with his arms crossed over his chest. He has no idea where they’re going and he doesn’t care. Twin towns is getting further and further away and they have passed the place where Michael had taken him. They stop by a store. Sam waits in the car when Lucifer goes in to shop. He comes out a while later with two big bags of who knows what that he puts in the trunk. When he sits back in the driver’s seat again he drops a box with five 5 cl Absolut vodka with different flavours in Sam’s lap. Honestly? Sam is a bit surprised. It doesn’t stop him from opening the box up and downing the Raspberry flavoured one as soon as they hit the road again. It burns and causes a whole body shudder and a grimace that has Lucifer laughing again.

Five minutes later Sam starts talking again like they never stopped. “It’s just like, I dunno, I feel like such a weak loser, you know? Shit. I cry like a baby and I’m scared shitless. I friggin beg him to stop and I can’t help myself. I should be stronger than that. I was raised to be stronger than that!”

Lucifer hums. “Everybody does, Sam. It’s not like in the movies. The human body does not work that way. You cannot withstand torture for an extended period of time like some action hero on TV. Sooner, rather than later, the brain will tell you your body has had enough and you need to escape somehow. People break a whole lot easier than we are made to think. You’re not a weak loser. If you were as weak as you seem to think, you’d be dead by now. It’s not just the pain, you know?”

”What do you mean?” Sam asks while he opens the ‘ _Absolut Ruby Red_ ’ vodka and takes a gulp. This one burns just the same but he manages to keep from grimacing. 

”A trick used by the Nazis in Germany was to starve and torture people that were hard to break for days or weeks, then inform them they were going to be released. They were given a good room, nice meals, baths and a soft bed. A taste of the good life and freedom. Instead of being set free they were dragged back to torture and starvation. By then they had started to build up hope and when they were dragged back they lost hope which made them break. They knew what was in store for them then. Michael does a variation of the same thing. You never know when you’re going to be picked up or what you’re going to have to endure. Yet you skip along like the happy smurf as soon as you’re set free. And that, is not, weakness.”

Sam snorts somewhere between derision and amusement. “I’m no friggin happy smurf I can tell you that.” Sam drinks the rest in the little bottle. “Look… I feel so friggin powerless, you know? I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t tell anyone, because if I do people I love get hurt or die. The only one I _can_ talk about this with is you. And you’re friggin _helping him_. And I don’t get it. If our roles were reversed I would never―”

”Yes you would,” Lucifer interrupts. “I’m dead certain you would if our circumstances were reversed. For reasons I―”

”Can’t talk about. I know, I know,” Sam breaks him off in frustration. “I should hate you.”

”You should,” Lucifer agrees. _But you don’t._ is left hanging in the air unsaid.

But it’s true. Sam doesn’t hate him. Not even close. Lucifer is often there when Michael picks him up. He remains stony-faced and silent during the ‘play session’. Only speaking up when he comes with small suggestions to Michael that if they’re heeded, which they mostly are, since Michael really listens to Lucifer, means relief for Sam, however small. Then he goes away with Michael and returns a while later to help patch Sam up and care for him. Lucifer never asked him not to tell Michael or anyone about their friendship-thing- _whatever_. But he has figured out that Michael doesn’t know about their connection- _whatever_ and it needs to stay hidden or it will be bad. For both of them. How bad and in what way remains a mystery. Often, but not always, Lucifer shows up after sessions where he wasn’t present too, like today. The only times he doesn’t show up, is if he doesn’t find out until long afterwards.

Truth to be told, Lucifer is a big reason he is holding up so ‘well’. He gets to do a debriefing, like Lucifer calls it, afterwards. He gets to cry and be angry or vent or be held. Whatever he needs. So Sam gets it. Lucifer is trying. _What-ev-er_. It just drives him mad not to know _why_ Lucifer can’t do more. “He has something on you too, huh?”

”In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Silence falls after that. Sam drinks a third bottle that tastes like lemon. He starts feeling a bit fuzzy and looks out of the window broodingly. He is still cranky but not as mad. It’s a way to measure his level of anger on how he sounds like Dean when he is really, really angry. And Dean uses the word “Fuck” like the Smurfs use the word “Smurf”.

After a while they arrive at an old aircraft hangar and Lucifer tells him to wait in the car. Sam just grunts in acquiescence. But his curiosity is piqued. Then Lucifer comes back and gets the supplies he bought from the trunk and motions Sam to follow. Inside the hangar there are three small planes and Lucifer heads for a Cessna 421.

”Is this yours?” Sam asks with round eyes as Lucifer loads their supplies in it.

”It belongs to the family.” Lucifer smirks and motions for Sam to get in upfront.

A thrill of excitement runs through Sam as he does. “You know how to fly?”

”Wouldn’t have taken you here if I didn’t.” He winks at Sam and hands him a headset. “I’m no stunt pilot, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Sam does something between a nod and a headshake. Frankly too stunned to speak, temper forgotten. He has never flown before. He’s nervous but at the same time exhilarated. It gets better when they take off and his stomach swoops as in a roller coaster, the ground getting smaller beneath them. He’s enchanted by how everything just shrinks and all that seems dirty and grey on the ground just blend together to beautiful colours. The fields below turning to near perfect rectangles, the forests rolling hills of evergreen, cars nothing by tiny ants on black stripes across the land. It is _awesome_. He doesn’t get why Dean doesn’t like this.

An hour later they’re above the clouds and there are these bright white landscapes, like hills, mountain peaks and fields but made out of clouds alone. Like he’d imagine Antarctica or something. The hum of the engines is lulling and somehow, despite the excitement, the day catches up with him and he drifts to sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up it’s quiet and a hand is stroking his hair gently. His headset has been taken off. Lucifer’s voice drifts into his foggy mind as he stirs.

”I’m impressed, Sammy. You slept through a rather bumpy landing and have been out like a light while I set up camp.”

Sam blinks his eyes open. It’s dark outside, apart from a fire burning merrily on the ground. The moon casts an eerie spotlight on the scenery, but Sam’s gaze is drawn to Lucifer. He’s got that serene look on his face that Sam only ever have seen him have, when he’s looking at Sam. Calm, warm, and a bit sad. The faintest barely there hint of a smile on his lips. The moonlight highlights one side of his face and leaves the other one in darkness.

”Come on. We should eat.”

Sam’s stomach chooses that time to growl its acquiescence and Sam makes an unintelligible noise that is supposed to be an affirmative. Lucifer removes his hand and Sam immediately misses it so he scampers to follow Lucifer out of the plane, stretching and rubbing the haze out of his eyes. Once he gets his wits about him he’s awestruck. They’re a long way from home for sure. To begin with, it’s _warm_. Sam’s thick jacket seems redundant. They’re on a vast grassy plain, painted in silvery hues by the moonlight. Far in the distance he can see mountains. The grass is short and dry, dotted with islands of taller grass and bushes. Sam can only count to two small trees when he looks around, but they’re far away. They’re literally in the middle of nowhere. “Whoa…”

Lucifer sniggers. “You asked me to take you nowhere and anywhere. Well, here we are.” He smirks at Sam from the campfire, where he is fishing out two packages wrapped in tinfoil with a stick. His eyes sparkle with warm mirth and Sam’s heart clenches. “There, go take a seat,” he says gesturing at a thick blanket a bit further away from the fire. “There are drinks in the bag beside it, choose whatever you want.”

Sam complies. In the bag beside the blanket there are 50 cl bottles with Pepsi MAX, Fanta, water, beer, and a big bottle of vodka. Sam goes for a beer and takes off his jacket. Lucifer comes back and hands him one of the foil packages. There’s one of those microwave calzones in it. Cooking it in the fire had worked too.

”Don’t be fooled. It’s going to get cold here,” Lucifer warns and busies himself with taking a Pepsi out, drinking a couple of chugs, then pouring vodka into the bottle. He turns his attention to his food once his drink is made.

The first bite is heavenly but really tells Sam how hungry he is. He gobbles down his food hardly tasting it and washes it down with beer. Beer is an acquired taste, just like coffee. But he just wants to get drunk. Cicadas chirp in the background and the only light that doesn’t come from the sky is their fire. Not a house or a city to be seen. It’s friggin magical. He’s slightly overwhelmed. He’s been out on a lot of hunting and fishing trips in his days, but that was always vast forests, mountains, and lakes. The sense of space this place has, is new to him. He stares at Lucifer eating by his side. He’s so much more relaxed than Sam ever seen him. There’s a softness around his eyes that’s usually not there. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but he doesn’t think so. Not with how the slope of his shoulders signalling the same total relaxation.

Sam finishes his beer and decides to do what Lucifer just did. He takes a Fanta and drinks part of it, filling the rest with vodka. He hears Lucifer snigger at him but it doesn’t bother him. The alcohol is already making him lightheaded. He looks at Lucifer again. He’s finished eating and is sitting legs wide apart outstretched in front of him, supporting himself on his arms and looking upward. Sam wants to be close. Liquid courage lends him boldness enough to crawl between Lucifer's legs and lean his back against his chest. Lucifer doesn’t protest. Warmth seeps through the fabric between them. He leans the back of his head against Lucifer’s shoulder and turns his eyes skyward. “Wow!”

Lucifer chuckles. “ _Indeed,_ ” he agrees. It’s like being in a planetarium. There are no city lights, clouds, or smog to distract from all the stars. Sam doesn’t remember when he saw a night sky like this before. There are so many stars and they shine so brightly. It’s breathtaking.

”Where are we?”

”Do you really want to know?”

Sam thinks about it. “You know what? I don’t. It’s like you’ve taken me to another plane of existence. Like a completely other world far removed from our own.”

Lucifer hums. He can hear the smile in the sound. “But it’s not. It’s the same world we live in. All the dirty gritty shit that goes on, coexists with all that’s beautiful and inspiring.” Lucifer takes a hefty swig of his drink and Sam remains silently looking at the stars. He likes it when Lucifer gets talkative. “At the same time Michael had you at his mercy, this was here. Children played on the playground, people died toiling for diamonds in Africa, women got abducted and sold as sex slaves, people fell in love and shared their first kiss, held the hands of their dying grandma in a hospital bed, worried about taxes or what dress to wear. And it’s all the same creation, the same world.” He takes another drink and continues. “And we humans… We like to either claim we’re better than animals or the other way around. But we’re not. All the shit we do, they do to. A female mallard that hasn’t found a mate by the end of the mating season runs a great risk of getting gang raped, sometimes dying in the process. Rivalling communities of chimpanzee go to war with each other. Their smaller cousins bonobos sometimes solve conflict with sex. Animals of different species have been seen to adopt abandoned babies of other species, without involvement of man. Ants keep and tend to aphids like we do with cattle. Other species of ants create farms where they grow and harvest fungus. Birds use tools. Homosexuality can be found amongst all social animals. Anything we do, they do. Both good and bad. It all ties together on a grand perspective and it’s soo fascinating.”

Sam chuckles and takes a swig of his drink. “Grand perspective huh? You must really like flying.”

Sam feels Lucifer’s smile against his cheek. “Actually, I’m not so keen on flying. I’m not afraid of it, but it makes me uncomfortable.”

”Really? Then why did you take me on a plane ride?”

”You said you wanted to fly.”

”When did I say that?” Sam has no recollection of mentioning that. It’s true though.

”That day when you talked to Brady for the first time, on the bleachers.”

Sam gets an overwhelming warm feeling, constricting his lungs. “Dude! That was two years ago. You still remember that?”

Lucifer buries his nose in Sam’s hair. “I remember everything you say, Sammy.”

* * *

Much later the chill has crept in on them. They’ve moved forward on the blanket sitting on the edge of it and the rest draped over Lucifer’s shoulders and around the both of them like a cocoon. One of Lucifer's arms is circled around Sam’s chest, the other one resting on his stomach. Some time ago Sam resolutely pulled up his shirt enough that Lucifer’s hand landed underneath the shirt and there it remained, thumb lazily stroking back and forth in a gentle caress. Conversation has come and gone in waves, broken by comfortable silences. The fire has died down and they’re both drunk and sleepy.

”We don’t have to go back,” Lucifer says suddenly.

”What? Stay ‘ere? In the wldrness?” Sam slurs.

”No. We can go anywhere you want in the world. Just not… not back.”

It’s tempting. Sam allows himself to drift on that thought. Foreign countries, places never seen before, cultures and nature to discover. Lucifer would provide for him. He would, Sam’s sure of it. Maybe learn a new language or two. They’d tease one another for silly things and Lucifer would do that thing he does when he analyses people with a look and tell Sam about it. They’d… But that would mean leaving Dean. He _could_ do it. Except not with that monster Michael still there back in twin town. “Deen.” It’s all Sam says. But Lucifer gets it. A soft sigh tickles Sam’s ear and equally soft lips press against his temple for a beat. He understands. But it’s a good dream.

* * *

Sam’s not back until two days later. Dean is absolutely _livid_. Sam refuses to tell him where he’s been and what he’s done. There’s lots of screaming and shouting and some shoving and it ends with Dean _grounding_ him for a fortnight. There’s a first time for everything, right? But it was worth it. The only drawback is a longing ache in Sam’s chest that he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment. :) It means so much to me. <3


	60. 4G LTE coverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day seen through a selection of use of phones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter**  
>  This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEWINE**

* * *

Castiel’s phone might have been lying muted and untouched in his pocket during the day, that didn’t mean there was no traffic on it.

**Dean Winchester 09:43** : Hey Angel. Flight go okay?

**Dean Winchester 10:34** : Cas, U busy?

**Dean Winchester 12:58** : [Picture included - _The impala covered in a huge pile of snow_ ]  
Seriously?!!!! I park on the sidewalk and nip into the store for FIVE MINUTES and this happens!! Whatta FUCK!!!! Someone has to DIE for this!!!

**Sam Winchester 13:03** : [Picture included - _Dean red-faced and looking ready to either murder someone or have an aneurysm (or both) pulling his hair and staring wide-eyed at something_ ]  
Oh my god! You're missing out! Me and Dean went into the store for twenty minutes and when we came out some snowplow driver had gone all passive aggressive on Dean's car for being in the way and dumped a mountain of snow on top of it! Dean is so pissed he is hyperventilating and I can't stop laughing! 


	61. You're the music to my Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gives Dean his belated birthday gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  Rimming  
> Bottom!Dean/Top!Cas  
> Light breath play
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  I’m extremely sorry for the long gaps between updates. Know that if I could, I’d update much _much_ more often. Apart from IRL throwing crap on me, my muse is being a pissy bitch and I actually had to scrap two whole chapters that weren’t good enough and would lead the storyline astray. Which means a lot of wasted writing time. 
> 
> On a totally unrelated note I can report that when it comes to BeanBoozled Jelly Beans, surprisingly, the flavour wet wipe isn’t half bad. Grass clippings is okay, not tasting enough grass. Toothpaste is delightful. Booger tastes _nothing_ like actual boogers (what? Like you’ve never tried? *defensive eye squint*) and has a horrendous taste that just effing stays in your mouth whatever you eat or drink afterwards. Dogfood tastes like gravy and while it isn’t the greatest taste for candy, it’s not nasty. I’ve yet to work up the courage to try stinky socks, vomit, and rotten egg. I’ll get back to you once I have.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**WHAT FUCKING BOX?**

* * *

”Stay still for me, Dean. Can you do that? Just like that, _good boy_.” Castiel’s voice when he praises Dean, is both the pleased purr of a cat and the hungry growl of a predator and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Part of him feels humiliated about how much he likes hearing the praise. He’s ashamed of complying to Castiel’s wishes. Scratch that. _Orders._ He has to fight to not snipe some nasty retort. Cas has been an ass and he shouldn’t be folding like some stupid pet. He’s got his pride to think about, right? Right. But it’s not like he can pretend to be an unwilling participant in this. Not when he is butt naked with his ass in the air, elbows on the mattress and head resting against a pillow while Cas is standing on his knees behind him, stroking up and down his back and ass, eliciting goosebumps with his touch. 

He feels just as nervous this time as the last time. And this time Cas is different. Yesterday he went totally off grid. Didn’t respond to any messages, didn’t answer any calls. Didn’t let Dean know he was still in town. Dean had to find out from fucking Gadreel, Zack and Mack for god sake! Why Tweedledee and Tweedledum showed up to watch Free Will’s game is another mystery. Gadreel he could understand. Dude’s cool, you know? But _Zachariah_? Douchebag asswipe Zack had been fucking _cheering_ when Free Will scored. _Come on!_ Something is just _wrong_ with that picture. Anyway, it pissed Dean off that Cas had just full on ignored him for no apparent reason. He could hardly fall asleep yesterday because he was so pissed.

Then he woke up this morning when a very naked Cas crawled on top of him, threw a bottle of lube on the bed beside them, smelling faintly of alcohol with an intense look in his eyes. Whatever is up with Cas right now, it fucking does things to Dean he isn’t proud of. Not when he is supposed to be pissed. But Cas is having none of that. He’s in his all assertive, demanding, _don’t-be-bothersome-do-as-I-say_ -persona right now and _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel good to just hand over the reins.

Cas bends down and licks a stripe over Dean’s pucker and he jolts forward in surprise from the foreign sensation. “Jesus, Cas! Warn a guy,” he hisses.

Cas huffs. “I told you to stay still, Dean,” he says sternly and tugs Dean back up in position by his hips. “And keep quiet. Sam may wake up at any moment and you don’t want him to come in to investigate, do you?”

Dean starts to turn around, scowling, intending to protest but his head is shoved down on the pillow and Cas buries his tongue in his hole without reservation and _fuck_. Cas hand remains firmly grounded on the back of Dean’s head, preventing him from coming up. Not that he wants to. Who knew it’d feel this good to have somebody lick, suck, and fuck one’s ass with their tongue? And Cas is making quiet hums of appreciation that go straight to Dean’s dick. Cas lowers the intensity of his ministrations, placing small cat licks on the pucker and stroking up and down Dean’s back with his free hand. “Good boy,” he purrs again and Dean bites his lip not to moan loudly. This being quiet thing is a real fucking challenge. Cas removes his hand from Dean’s head and Dean turns his head on the pillow to glare at Cas. He isn’t sure if the glare is for pushing his head down or for removing the hand. 

But Cas isn’t looking at his face. He is reaching for the lube, popping the lid open and coating his fingers while still licking. Dean’s scowl melts away to be replaced by anticipation. Cas looks up and meets his eyes. “I’m about to prepare you like I should have done it when we merged the first time,” he says with a small smirk in a hushed voice.

_Merged?_ “Oh for fuck’s sake, Angel, you’re such a weird fucker,” Dean says somewhere between fond amusement and exasperation. “What are we? Two business co-corporations?” He stutters when the first lubed finger slips inside with ease after Castiel’s tongue administrations. “ _Fuck!_ ” He hears Cas mutter “I intend to,” under his breath as he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head back into the pillow. Right on time too because Cas crooks his finger, hitting the sweet spot and Dean curses loudly into the pillow at the jolt of pleasure that follows.

”Hush, Dee. I’m pretty sure I just heard Sam’s door open. Keep quiet,” Cas says and kisses his ass cheeks tenderly while working in a second finger. It burns just the tiniest bit and Dean once again gets that odd feeling where he’s hovering between wanting to get them out and take away the discomfort and feeling like it’s not enough, needing to be filled up _more_.

”Easy for you to say, you’re not the one thaa-ffffu..” Cas once again crooks his fingers and Dean bites the pillow to keep from crying out. All his focus goes to relaxing and keeping quiet as Cas alternates fucking with his fingers and rubbing his prostate. He’s aware of the sounds coming from the apartment declaring Sam to be awake and going about his morning routine. It’s odd to keep quiet for Sam’s sake. Dean’s more used to being extra _loud_ just to mess with Sam. You know, as is a big brother’s prerogative to do. Duty, in fact. There’s a certain satisfaction in getting bitchface No.29 in the morning, accompanied with a comment like ‘ _Christ, Dean, did you have to bring home another screamer?_ ’. 

Now, however, he wants to hide that when he and Cas sleep together, when they aren’t actually sleeping. And he isn’t keen on finding out what Sam will think, if he finds out that Dean is fucking Sam’s best friend. _Ahem_. Being fucked _by_ his best friend. But whatever. Sam will never find out, right? Right. As long as he can stop himself from moaning and cursing loudly. Which is one helluva challenge. His skin is buzzing from every soft touch trailed over his body, by Cas’ hot breath against his skin, by lips and tongue exploring his ass cheeks and lower back, by teeth nipping gently. As the third finger comes into play Dean starts fucking himself back on Cas’ hand. The feeling of _NeedGimmeWantMineMore_ building. Cas keeps whispering words into his skin. He barely hears any of it. But what he does hear just adds to the swarm of butterflies Cas is cultivating in his stomach. No wonder his heart soars in Cas’ presence, considering how many wings are fluttering on his inside right now.

He wants to scream in protest when Cas removes his hand. When Cas lubes himself up and starts to slowly push in it is a relief. He goes _waaay_ too slow for Dean’s taste. There is none of the pain from their first time, just a slight burning sensation that hardly registers. Frowning, he tries to push back on Cas’ cock impatiently but Cas hisses and holds him firm with a grip on his hips. Fucker is _strong_.

”You peevish twat. Didn’t you learn anything during our last intercourse?” Cas scolds hushedly.

”Fuck that shit and just fuck me already,” Dean growls waspishly.

”Your use of the English vocabulary never cease to amaze me,” Cas chuckles but doesn’t push in faster. When he’s halfway in Dean feels the burn more. Cas is wider at the middle. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about that. He pushes back forcefully and this time manages to sheathe Cas fully in one go. Cas folds like a swiss army knife over his back with a sharp intake of breath. “Are you trying to make me climax before we get started? If not, you are severely overestimating my self control or underestimating your own effect on me,” Cas chokes out, breathing strained.

He fucking loves it when Cas loses his controlled mask. He can’t help himself from squeezing around Cas while rolling his hips. “ _Crap_ ,” Cas yelps and bites down on Dean’s shoulder, _hard_. Dean stills with a yelp of his own. Okay so maybe it isn’t smart to tease Cas when Sam is up and about. It takes Cas a little while to get a hold on himself. When he does he eases his teeth off Dean gently and soothes the mark with his tongue. He starts moving slowly at first. Then he hitches an arm around Dean’s chest and pulls him up so he is sitting in Cas’ lap, back pressed against his chest. One hand wraps around Dean’s cock and the other covers his mouth. He starts moving in earnest, while jerking Dean off at the same time. His harsh breaths are hot on Dean’s neck and make goosebumps form. The hand covering his mouth is a blessing. Any time he makes a noise that threatens to be too loud Cas simply uses his thumb to squeeze his nose shut, effectively cutting sound off. He keeps it shut longer than it takes for the sound to die, but not long enough for Dean to panic. Nevertheless, when air comes rushing back into his lungs again it has a dizzying effect. It's strangely arousing. Both the lightheadedness it causes and trusting Cas to control his breathing and noises.

Dean claws at Cas’ ass, trying to pull him closer, deeper. This position feels awesome, Cas’ cock rubbing against his sweet spot ever so often, Cas’ hand jerking off his cock, the creaking of the bed and the sound of their bodies coming together reduced to a minimum. He’s building up fast. There’s a knock on the door and Dean wants to scream.

 

_ShitShitShitShit_

 

”Dean?” Sam says through the door.

Cas, the motherfucking _asshole_ , doesn’t stop. If anything, he amps up the intensity. Sam knocks again, harder this time. “Dean!”

Dean tugs Cas’ hand away from his mouth. ” _What?_ ” he yells testily at Sam. The next second he regrets removing the hand because Cas, very _deliberately_ , grinds his hips in a way that hits his prostate ruthlessly and he has to bite the inside of his cheek not to scream with every jolt of pleasure.

” _Good boy_ , Dee,” Cas breathes into his ear. “Keeping quiet for me. You’re _so_ good…”

”What’s in the box?” Sam asks.

Jeezus fucking Christ! What fucking box?! _ShitShitShit_! How is he supposed to think like this? He can hardly breathe from concentrating so hard not to keen in pleasure. “Answer him, Dee,” Cas whispers and sucks Dean’s earlobe into his mouth. FUCK!

”What fucking box?!”

”Perfect. Good boy.” The praise sends shivers down Dean’s spine and he feels like he might cry from frustration and pleasure. Cas is a horrible, _evil_ , S.O.B.

”The big box outside your room, dumbass!” comes Sam’s irritated reply. 

He can’t answer. He literally can’t open his mouth right now. If he does it won’t be words coming out. He’s on the verge of blowing his load right now and Sam’s _right there_ , on the other side of the door that may or may not be locked. A tiny whimper escapes him and Cas chuckles darkly. The fucker.

”Will you two **shut up**! I’m trying to sleep, you bloody wankers!” Cas yells at the door and then giggles silently.

”Cas is here?” Sam asks redundantly.

”I said _shut up_ , or I will smite both of you,” Cas yells back then whispers to Dean, “Trust me, you’re safe to let go now, Dee.” He swipes his free hand down to pinch one of Dean’s sensitive nipples lightly and bites at the base of his skull which feels strangely fantastic and that’s all she wrote for Dean.

Sam starts saying something but Dean doesn’t hear it. He comes all over Cas’ hand, falling forward on the bed. “Fuck! _Fuck!_ Caa- _aas_!” he cries out, sounding agonized. He’s lucid enough to be pissed off since Sam will know for sure now. “You fucking asshole,” he adds angrily before a second wave hits him and he has to bite his pillow.

”Shit I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says and retreats from the door.

Dean stays with his head buried in the pillow, full of mixed emotions in his post-orgasmic haze. Cas suddenly pulls out and comes all over his back with a hiss. Dean feels terrified and humiliated and relieved and blissed out at the same time. _ShitShitShit_! He’ll never be able to look Sam straight in the eye ever again. He feels Cas lick his own jizz up, the warm tongue sending shivers through his body despite his confused jumble of thoughts. Then he is manhandled to lie on his back and has to bite his lip when Cas licks his over-sensitive cock clean, milking out any stray come. Dean runs his fingers through his hair and stares wide-eyed at the ceiling. Part of him wants to punch Cas. Cas crawls up and lays down on top of him in all his naked glory, looking happy and self satisfied as a cat who just caught a mouse swimming in a bowl of cream.

”You were perfect. Sam will not suspect a thing,” Cas purrs and starts licking his hand clean from Dean’s come.

_That_ gets Dean’s attention. “Wait, what?”

Cas sniggers and stops his licking for a beat. “He thinks I hurt you, knobhead. What did you think?” he says with a raised eyebrow and goes back to lick his hand. Dean’s face scrunches up in confusion which prompts Cas to roll his eyes and speak again. “He thinks you woke me up. He has been on the receiving end of my morning temper. Back when I still used to sleep on the couch he once woke me up by sitting on me. I think the limp I gave him lasted for a week,” he says smugly.

”Hey, I remember that limp. He said he walked into a door,” Dean says frowning. Relief washes over him. Wingboy’s right. Sam would jump to that conclusion. Deep, deep down he’s a bit disappointed too. Fuck knows why.

Cas gives him a sceptical look. “And you believed that?”

”Well, yeah. He’s a klutz. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Cas ceases all activity and squints at Dean adorably. He is silent for a beat, like he is trying to figure something out, tilting his head and drilling his _I-can-see-through-you-_ gaze into Dean’s. That look still makes him nervous, boyfriend or not. Dean runs his hands soothingly over Cas’ back, although it’s more to soothe himself. Then Castiel reaches a conclusion and goes back to his hand-licking, looking at the hand to see if he has missed a spot. “He’s not. And you’re an idiot. I love you either way. And when I say you’re safe, you are safe. Trust me on that, Dee. All you have to do to keep up appearances, is stomp towards the shower looking pissed when you leave this room, and the illusion will be complete.”

Dean is struck dumb by the panic and joy bursting like fireworks in his chest. _Shit!_ Cas always does this. Same as when he comforted Sam after the nightmare. Just blurts out ‘ _I love you’s_ ’ like it’s a perfectly fine and simple thing to say. Like it doesn’t come with a shitload of vulnerability and responsibility. Just like he’s stating any mundane everyday fact. ‘ _There’s a stain on the carpet, I love you, we’re out of coffee, and I have a dental appointment today_ ’. They’ve been a couple for how long? Not nearly long enough to say that. Screw the fact that he’d been pining for Cas for ages. It doesn’t matter what you feel, you just don’t _say it_ , okay? You don’t. You show your cards―you get hurt. People can use that against you. Yet _hearing_ it makes an internal choir sing hallelujah, all those little butterflies dance, and his chest constrict.

Unable to find a proper response, Dean swats Cas’ hand away from his mouth and Cas blinks up at him confusedly. Dean kisses him and closes his eyes. He feels how Cas practically melts against his chest and goes all pliant when their lips meet. The soft press of lips turns less chaste as tongues comes into play, but it’s still a languid, intimate kind of kiss that warms Dean all over. Yeah. He’s totally and utterly gone for the dork currently lying on his chest. He tastes of their mixed release, faintly of mint and residual alcohol. He tastes like _home_ and _safe_ and it is friggin heaven. It’s stupid how this weird asshat can make his world turn into rainbows and kittens with such ease.

He breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, feeling lightheaded. Cas is looking at him with the softest smile, eyes brilliant blue and adoring, cheeks tinted pink. _Gorgeous._ He probably has the same goofy lovestruck look himself. There are a knocking and scraping sound from outside their room. ( _Their_ room. Because it is, okay?) “What’s that sound?” Dean asks.

”Probably Sam trying to figure out what’s in the box,” Cas grins impishly, nose crinkling.

Right. The mysterious box. “What box?”

”Your belated birthday present. It was in my house but since we haven’t been back there for a while, I went and got it.” Dean’s suddenly very excited and curious. He’d forgotten all about the present Cas had promised him. It must have shown in his face because Cas chuckles and rolls off him. “You can’t open it before breakfast. I need my coffee,” he says, then raises his voice to be heard outside the door. “Hands off, Sam! That’s Dean’s present! Go make me coffee instead.”

”Breakfast is already done, coffee included,” Sam answers. “I want to know what’s inside!”

”Schrödinger's cat possibly,” Cas yells back with a dorky grin. 

Dean rolls his eyes when he hears Sam laugh. “Christ! You two are such dweebs,” he says loud enough for Sam to hear. There’s a muttered ‘jerk’ from outside but it’s tinted with fondness. Life is good.

* * *

**PLAY IT AGAIN, SAM**

* * *

Sam’s surprised but delighted to find Cas has slept at their place. He hadn’t heard Cas come. Must have been pretty late because Sam went to bed at 3 AM. He’d been stuck on the couch reading friggin’ _fanfiction_ on his tablet. Not about himself, gods no! One tweet-prompted search for “ _Sabriel_ ” was enough to set his mind reeling, making him want to scrub his brain with bleach. He’d hardly been able to look at Gabe at the game without blushing which had prompted Gabe to offer him a lollipop and tell him to cheer up, which had been exactly how the fic he’d read had started and… _Eeeww!_

Since he’s a sensible adult nowadays (and hovering between repulsed and curious) he’d taken Gabe up on the offer to talk about it over a beer after the game. He’s glad he did. It was awkward at first. But Gabe had such an easygoing approach to the whole thing that curiosity had taken overhand. He’d found that as long as he stayed out of the hockey fandom there’s a whole world of great, uncensored writing about any topic, viewed from characters he loves and could identify with. So he’d been stuck until 3 AM reading short stories about Mulder and Scully from the X-files, topping it off with some Captain America fics that was nothing less than porn and had brought his old fantasies about Chris Evans back to vivid life. Gabe’s idea to send a prompt to a writer doesn’t seem like such a bad idea any longer.

Anyway, Cas is here at the kitchen table with them, where he belongs. And Sam’s dying of curiosity about what the big box contained. He’s itching to know what Cas has given Dean―curious if Cas can top what Dean had given him. By now both Sam and Dean keep stealing surreptitious glances at the mysterious box in the living room, while reading the newspaper. Dean’s more quiet than usual. Possibly because he’d had a brush with Castiel’s morning temper. Sam feels sorry for him and hopes it doesn’t set back his plans to get the two of them together.

He hears the mail fall onto the doormat in the hallway and rises to go fetch it. It’s rarely something exciting. Fan mail usually comes to the club, not their apartment, so bills and junk mail is their ordinary crop. Not today, though. A thick envelope with a familiar handwriting lay there with the bills and Sam’s heart skips. It’s a secret he’d managed to keep from both Lucifer and Michael despite their vigil over him, and a half-truth given to Dean to conceal the truth. It’s from an old lover. One he was never supposed to have. Every time they meet it’s supposed to be the last meeting, but once or twice a year they’ve hooked up regardless.

Sam takes the mail and goes back to the kitchen, dumps the bills in front of Dean, and opens the envelope as he sits down. A small rabbit's foot key-chain falls out along with the letter. Sam takes the keychain in hand, stroking the soft fur, and begins to read.

 

_”Dear Sam,_

_I don’t even know where to begin this letter. Today I got a very sad announcement from my doctors. Chances are, I will never fully heal from the accident back in December. At the age of 38 my career is officially over. I always knew it had to end. Yet it feels unreal now the day is actually upon me. It’s like staring into a deep dark abyss of nothingness. For the second time ever, I feel the lure of crossing that final line and committing the greatest sin, forever condemning oneself from God’s mercy, just to be free._

_Fear not, kid, I will not end my life by my own hand. I will bear my future, accepting my punishment for the sin of loving you. The scarlet letter you sucked into my skin with your luscious mouth sank beyond skin deep and burned itself forever onto my heart. I may not be more to you than a good lay, but to me you were a lifebuoy when I was drowning. You still are. I will treasure our few stolen moments until the day I die._

_I despair to think that our last time together truly was the last time. But just as I knew my career had to end, I always knew we weren’t meant to be. I’m however thrilled to see your career taking off. I believe your team will climb the ladder to play in ChHL and I will watch every game. To be on the safe side I send you this rabbit foot for luck. Just don’t lose it, I’ve heard it has the opposite effect if you do._

_Be safe._  
 _Forever yours truly, - T._ ”

Sam folds and pockets the letter with a lump in his throat, wanting to cry. He would have, if he’d been alone. His heart bleeds for his old lover, Tom. Not because they would never see each other again (which he _does_ regret, but was prepared for), but because he knows what miserable loveless life is awaiting the man now his career is over. He doesn’t want anybody he cared for go down that path. He strokes the rabbit's foot, looking at it without seeing. Dean knows about "T", he just assumes it’s a woman and Sam has never done anything to dispel that idea.

”Fan mail?” Cas asks curiously.

Dean is holding the envelope, studying the handwriting. “Nah. This is from an old hookup of his, I recognise the writing. Some older, married chick that Sam has been banging on and off since he was sixteen. Can I open my present now?” he says and looks up at Cas hopefully.

Sam’s grateful for the distraction. He fastens the rabbit's foot on his keys. Cas nods his acquiescence since both brothers have finished their breakfast and he has been lingering over his coffee just to procrastinate. “It’s a snow shovel,” Cas says with a teasing grin and Sam laughs. (Although, the box is big enough for it.)

”Fuck you, Angel,” Dean grins and gives Cas a playful smack on the shoulder before bouncing out to the living room, eager as a child. Sam and Cas follow him. Dean already has the box open and peeking inside when they catch up. Whatever it is Dean’s face falls from an excited grin to a wide-eyed, worried ‘O’. He looks up on Cas with a slight frown. “It’s not a joke, right? It’s what it seems to be, right? Because if it isn’t, I swear to God it isn’t funny.”

Well. If Sam was curious before, now he’s bursting at the seams to know what it is. Cas’ lips quirk into a soft smile, eyes going warm. “It’s not a joke, Dean,” he reassures.

Excitement flashes in Dean’s eyes and his lips keep twitching like he is fighting not to smile, not yet daring to believe. He dives back into the box and pulls out… a guitar case! Sam suddenly feels a jolt of joy in his chest. All the memories of Dean singing and playing on his old guitar lost in the fire coming back. Along with every other time Dean has borrowed someone else’s guitar for a stolen moment of musical bliss over the years. Sam sweeps Cas up in a bear hug while Dean opens the case. “Thank you so much!” Okay. So the present is for Dean. Maybe he should be the one doing the hugging and thanking. But it’s more than that. Cas is giving both brothers music back. Just like Gabe was the one to give them music to start with. It’s not just a guitar. It’s a highlight of so many of the good memories from times steeped in darkness. It’s good memories of their dad and good memories of the two of them together.

”Holy mother of fuck! _Caa_ -aas!” Dean looks up from the guitar and pins Cas with a wide-eyed awed stare. “Be totally honest with me now, Angel. Did you steal it?”

Cas disentangles himself from Sam with a throaty chuckle. “Would that be a problem for you if I had?” he says, voice laced with amusement and challenge in his eyes.

”Fuck no. I just need to know if I’m gonna be playing this one in public,” Dean says grinning. He is practically glowing from happiness now.

”Well then. Total honesty? By proxy. But no. It’s paid for. For insurance reasons.”

Dean giggles and carries the guitar over to the couch where he pulls out his phone and starts up a guitar tuning app, then sits down and starts tuning the strings. “Yeah, right. Like we could ever pay for insurance for this beauty,” he says. It’s probably meant skeptically but he is way too excited to sound it.

”By proxy? What does that mean?” Sam asks bemusedly, taking a seat in his corner of the couch.

Dean’s the one to answer. “It means, don’t ask where the money came from, dumbass,” he grins.

Cas winks at Sam, confirming Dean’s statement, and takes a seat on the floor in front of Dean. “As for insurance, it’s been taken care of, compliments of Luci.”

”That’s a gift horse I ain’t looking in the mouth,” Dean chuckles, intent on his tuning. “I swear Cas, you’re such a snob. This girl is way out of my league. I don’t get why you’re slumming it with us when you can have stuff like this,” he says and goes into babbling about how Cas with his fancy watches and expensive taste is too good for them. Either way, it doesn’t stop him from cradling the presumably expensive (judging by Dean’s reaction) guitar possessively and beaming like a child.

Sam has honestly no idea what he’s talking about. To him, Cas is geeky shirts and Lego. Sure, he had been seen with famous people, wearing fancy clothes, but that isn’t _him_. And he does seem to have a thing for watches, but that isn’t enough to make him a snob.

”Dean, don’t say she’s out of your league. Even if I’d have her diamond encrusted, she wouldn’t be up to par with what you’re worth,” Cas says, easily giving the guitar the same pronoun Dean had given it.

Dean’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away with a flustered smile. “Shut up…” he mutters and puts his phone away, finally finished tuning.

”So.. This guitar is, what, special somehow?” Sam hedges.

”Dude, _yes_!” Dean beams at him. “This is a Martin D-100 Deluxe. It’s a commemorative edition they created to celebrate their millionth guitar or sumthin’ like that. This sweetheart costs somethin’ like 100 big ‘uns to buy!” Dean’s fingers dance over the strings like he never stopped playing, filling the air with a medley of _Stone Temple Pilot’s ‘Plush’, Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’, Guns’n’Roses’ ‘Sweet Child O’ mine’_ and _ABBA’s ‘SOS’_.

Sam whistles. “Oh. _Wow._ That’s, that’s…”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I know, right?” he says while his fingers dance deftly playing _’What is love’_ by friggin _Haddaway_.

Cas sits quietly watching Dean with hearts in his eyes and Sam thinks perhaps Cas’ acting out his morning temper didn’t mess up so much of his matchmaking plans in the light of Dean’s utter joy at playing again. “Hey, you should sing something,” Sam suggests to Dean. He’s missed this so much.

”What do you want to hear?” Dean says, instantly game.

”I dunno, something happy? Hey, why don’t you play something about angels, considering.” Sam indicates Cas with a nod of his head. The thing about Dean behind a guitar is that it’s kind of like a safe place for him. The guitar acts like a shield and melts away shyness. He gets really into it and chances are he’ll be outwardly flirty in a way he’d never be otherwise. He’d play it off as an act afterwards, but if Sam could coax him to serenade Cas that’d be one step on the road of getting them together.

Turns out, not much coaxing is necessary. Dean drums his fingers against the body of the guitar thinking. He breaks up into a big smile. “I know one. You like this one, Sammy, I’ve heard you listen to it.” And he begins to play.

Sam instantly recognises the song. It’s ‘ _Angel in blue jeans_ ’ by _Train_. When Dean starts singing he’s turned towards Sam. He taps his foot to the beat while playing and Sam takes up drumming on his legs to accompany him. Sam can’t hold back a huge, face-splitting grin. He’s _missed_ this!

Dean gets totally immersed in the song, moving along to what he’s playing and not holding back on his voice resources like uncertain people tend to do. When he’s nearing the end of the song he turns his attention towards Cas, who sits at his feet gazing up at him totally moonstruck. The last verse is clearly sung to Cas alone and Sam high fives himself mentally.

 

_”I woke up in somebody's arms, Strange and so familiar, Where nothing could go wrong._  
 _Barely alive or nearly dead, Somehow awake in my own bed, And there you are…._  
 _Like a highway_  
 _headed my way_  
 _Life is but a dream_  
 _I was shot down by your love_  
 _My angel in blue jeans…_ ”

 

As the last notes fade away the two of them are staring at each other with the same stupidly adorkable, lovestruck grins on their faces, seemingly having forgotten Sam’s presence. The look lingers way too long and Sam starts feeling a bit awkward when Dean suddenly jerks back and frowns. “Who’s Katie?” he asks.

Oh. Right. The tweet Sam stupidly showed Dean yesterday when Dean was freaking out thinking something had happened to Cas.

Cas seems unruffled. “An angel fan that often comes to our parties. Sweet girl. You would like her.”

”You fucked her yesterday?” Dean asks. Sam can see him slamming up walls. Crap.

Cas huffs, insulted, and gives Dean a stink-eyed squint. “Of course not. I like her because she respects my boundaries. I have no interest in her any other way.” He tilts his head and the squint turns curious. “Unless of course, you’re interested. In which case we could share?”

Dean blushes and Sam laughs at the flustered look he darts towards Sam. Cas turns towards Sam and fixes him with a knowing stare. “What?” he says. “You mean to tell me _you_ never shared a girl with a friend?”

Dean sniggers. “Of course he hasn’t,” he says to Cas who counters with an unimpressed “Yeahuh,” still staring at Sam, making Dean turn his eyes towards Sam and finally noticing Sam blushing furiously. Dean’s jaw drops. “You _have_?!”

Well shit. Despite knowing Dean’s into guys, despite having admitted that, yes, he likes guys too to some extent, it’s still really awkward talking about his bisexual experiences in front of Dean. The fear of what his big brother will think of him is still there. “Um.. maybe,” Sam admits. Cas looks smug, like he knew all along. Maybe he did. Sam has no recollection of telling him that, though. Possibly he’s just a manipulative little shit.

”When?” Dean asks.

”Um… A couple of times whe―”

” _A couple of times?!_ ” Dean breaks him off and startles him by laughing. “Dude. That’s not a ‘maybe’!” he exclaims and laughs again. His fingers dance over the strings and he starts singing “ _It's okay When it's in a 3-way, It's not gay, When it's in a 3-way, With a honey in the middle There's some leeway…_ ” and promptly starts laughing again.

Not the reaction Sam had anticipated from Dean, but it’s a relief that there was no horror or disgust. He’s not willing to start answering questions about it, though. It might lead to admitting that sometimes there _hadn’t_ been a “honey in the middle” between him and Brady. Most of the times, actually. So Sam turns to Cas instead. “So what happened yesterday, Cas?” he asks and Dean is sufficiently distracted.

”Luci and I had a very emotionally draining but necessary heart-to-heart conversation that we helped along by consuming more alcohol than we should have. By the end of the day, Luci sent Balt on a food run and authorized him to bring guests to finish the rest of our alcohol supply. I fell asleep shortly after it had evolved into a party.”

”You could have called. We were worried,” Dean says while absently playing ‘ _Pick up the phone_ ’ by _Falling In Reverse_. He doesn’t look angry or hurt at least, just curious.

_No,_ we _weren’t._ You _were worried,_ Sam thinks. Sam thinks Cas is a grown ass man who can take care of himself even if he doesn’t answer his phone one friggin’ day. 

Cas smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Calling people while inebriated is not my Modus Operandi, Dee,” he says with a teasing but warm edge to his voice.

Dean grins, switching to play ‘ _Call Me_ ’ by friggin _Spagna_ from ‘85. Proving once and for all that it’s friggin’ bullshit when he claims to only like classic rock. Dean loves music, end of story. “Yeah well, maybe it should be,” Dean says and winks at Cas.

Cas scrunches his face up. “Is that… Spagna?”

”What if it is, Angel?” Dean asks mischievously and smirks boyishly with the tip of his tongue between his teeth, safe and shameless behind his new guitar.

”That’s dance music,” Cas says, gets up on his feet and shoves the coffee table out of the way with a kick. He starts moving his hips and looks at Dean expectantly. Dean, happy and carefree in this moment, starts singing the old dance jam, watching as Cas gives himself over to dancing just as shamelessly. Sam laughs in delight and stomps his feet to the base rhythm. 

By the time lunchtime rolls around Dean is hoarse and has sore fingers, Cas has put on a show and given Sam a dance lesson and all three of them have sore cheeks from smiling and laughing so much. Sam can’t remember how long ago it was since the last time he felt so free and happy totally sober. He wishes it will last forever.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dean's guitar.](http://www.martinguitar.com/new/item/89-d-100-deluxe.html)  
>  For those of you who wonder who Tom who sent Sam a love letter is, [you can read about their first meeting here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3226415/chapters/7253138) It's separated from the main story for two reasons. One, it doesn't affect the main plot more than just the fact that I like to make obscure nods to canon so naturally Sam needs a rabbits foot. And Two, I promised not to subject you guys to detailed sexual situations with the boys/others. But if you do like to see 16 y/o Sam seduce a much older OC who looks like Michael Fassbender, that's where you go to read. Okay. Over and out. ^^
> 
> Comment?


	62. The Taming of the Shrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is certain Lucifer is up to something. Lucifer _is_ up to something. Dean's newfound comfort in his relationship with Cas crumbles when they're in public. Cas seems cool about it. They're fine. They are. Fine. Everything is just fine. Dammit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Anxiety attack  
> \- Low self-esteem  
> \- Homophobic slurs  
> \- Self destructive behaviour
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Okay guys, the timeline is about to get a little fuzzy, but I'm working up to a part of the story that is going to be very hockey-intense as we're nearing the end of the season. Right now the teams' free time doesn't collide so they spend a lot of time together. You'll get to see actual games later on again. Just hold on a few more chapters.
> 
> I was totally incapacitated by the flu and then these amazing fan art pieces were bestowed upon me charging me with so much inspiration I ended up writing much more than I thought I'd be able to during my few hours of wakefulness, nose dripping, head pounding and fever running wild. I'm soo grateful! Just look at these:  
> [The Centerfold](http://i-bet-you-wish-i.tumblr.com/image/110938314108)  
> [The teams' logos](http://i-bet-you-wish-i.tumblr.com/post/111029308448/team-logos-as-requested-gosh-those-thing-looks)  
> all done by [i-bet-you-wish-i](http://i-bet-you-wish-i.tumblr.com/). Go follow on Tumblr!
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**DEVIL AT MY DOORSTEP**

* * *

The doorbell rings. Dean puts down the guitar on the bed beside him. His fingers have finally begun to get the necessary calluses to protect him while he’s playing, and he has let his nails on one hand grow to play with greater ease, rather than use a plectrum to pick the strings. He wonders how he could have forgotten how much he loved playing. He can’t read sheet music. He hears a song and just copies what he hears. Gabe says it’s a talent. Whatever. He hasn’t let go of the guitar for very long since he got her. He plucks absentmindedly on her strings while he’s in conversation with people and music lays a sub-conscious string of commentary to everything said. He hardly thinks about it but it amuses Cas to no end. Unless the door is closed Sam comes into his room and lays down beside him reading or just listening anytime he catches Dean playing. And he’s always smiling when he does. Just like when they were cooped up together when Dean was fifteen and his little runt of a brother crawled up beside him to do homework while he played. Dad used to come sit in the doorway, never crossing the threshold, just leaning his back against the doorframe, looking at Dean playing and Sammy snuggled up next to him. He had this look of endless love in his eyes watching his sons then. Dean used to think it was faked, but didn’t care. He’d play one of his father’s favourite songs anyway. “Long train runnin’” by the _Doobie Brothers_ , reminiscing about seeing mom and dad dance to it, happy and in love. Today, it was worth the blisters forming on his fingers in the beginning just to keep Sam buzzing of that content aura he has when he joins Dean on the bed.

Dean gets off the bed. Neither Sam nor Cas are at home and he isn’t expecting anyone. He makes his way to the hallway when the doorbell rings again, a long impatient buzz. He opens the door and recoils, biting his tongue not to blurt out something overly rude. “Cas isn’t here,” he says in a clipped tone and stares at Luci.

”I know he’s not here, since he’s currently in our break room crooning Disney duets with Balt,” Luci drones in a bored tone. “I came to see you.”

_Woah. That’s unexpected._ “Why?” Dean asks skeptically, curling his lip in disgust.

Lucifer sighs deeply and gives Dean an _I’m-so-done-with-your-shit_ kind of look. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve missed your delightful personality,” he says dryly. Then he smirks and holds out a big paper bag towards Dean. “For you and Sammy.”

Dean takes the bag while eyeing him suspiciously. He peeks inside. There are two white ‘ _I love Angels_ ’ jackets inside. The key to moving around Angel Falls freely. He knows the Angels use the Free Will supporter jackets on a regular basis nowadays and has caught Adam adapting the technique too. He himself has entertained the notion of getting one. Sure, he’s used to the nasty jeers and discrimination that crossing the river could bring, but it would be a relief not having to be subjected to it. He just hasn’t gotten around to actually buying one. His jaws clench, flexing the jaw muscles. “Cas put you up to this?”

Luci snorts and shakes his head.

”Cas said you paid for the insurance of the guitar. Why?” Dean’s tone is short and clipped, almost accusing.

Lucifer’s eyes flash of cold anger. Dean tenses up, body readies for the usual fight, but Luci visibly reins himself in, face going passive. “I’m not expecting anything in return from you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Luci says in a belittling tone. His lips curve into a subtle smirk. “Think of it as a gift to Cassie if that’s what you need to tell yourself to feel better about it. I look out for those in my care, so I figured it’d be prudent that at least one of us should act like a responsible adult and be civil for a change.” The look in his eyes is condescending, like Dean is a sorry excuse for a child who can’t play nice.

Dean’s gnashing his teeth together so hard his jaw aches. He just wants to punch that stupid look from Luci’s face. Partly because Luci’s right. Fucking _Lucifer_ is making an effort. Of course, _of course_ , once again Dean’s the one acting like a douchebag of a brat. It’s just fucking hard to erase the image of Lucifer standing over the beaten, terrified form of his baby brother seven years ago. It’s hard to not think of every time they’d fought, every single time Dean was left in humiliating and painful defeat. To look beyond the air of superiority and disdain Lucifer wears like a cloak around himself. But for some reason, Cas has decided that Lucifer is his “family” and Sam’s always urging for peaceful solutions. He’s _promised_ he would try. He shouldn’t have, promises are meant to be kept. Dean reluctantly steps away from the door, allowing Lucifer in, hoping he won’t take up on the offer.

No such luck. Luci steps over the threshold the moment Dean’s no longer blocking it. Dean holds back a dissatisfied grunt and puts down the paper bag on the floor as Luci takes off his jacket, hangs it up, and toes off his shoes, putting them neatly away on the shoe rack before he saunters into the apartment as if he fucking owns it. Dean tries not to bristle. _For Sam and Cas, alright? Cas and Sam,_ he reminds himself. His heart pounds aggressively in his chest, without anybody here to chaperone old instincts try to take over. Luci makes his way to the living room and sits down in the armchair looking way too comfortable and relaxed for Dean’s taste. _Cas and Sam, remember? You can do this, Winchester. Man up!_

Dean fetches his guitar, hanging its strap around his neck like a calming safety blanket, then goes to the kitchen and gets two bottles of beer, uncapping them. He follows Luci into the living room and holds one of the bottles out to the Angel. Luci stares at the bottle with an unreadable expression but makes no move to accept it. “Oh, for fuck sake, I’m not trying to poison you or anything,” Dean snaps irritably.

The corner of Luci’s lip curve upward in amusement and he takes the offered drink. Dean sits down on his corner of the couch (the one furthest away from Luci) and takes a swig of his beer before setting it down on the table in front of him. The guitar a familiar weight on his lap, grounding him. Luci hums and tilts his head, studying him curiously. “Could you, though?” Dean frowns and Luci adds “Do you possess the knowledge to do so?”

”What kind of fucked up question is that?”

Unperturbed, Luci says “If not, I could teach you. If you wish.” He looks at Dean with the same curious head tilt that Cas does, his expression one of serious interest.

Dean’s fingers start dancing over the strings, playing a melody to soothe his nerves. “Thanks, man, I think I’ll pass,” he says eyeing the older man with bemused scepticism. Luci just shrugs disinterestedly and finally takes a swig of the beer. The tension in the room is palpable despite Luci’s relaxed demeanor. They look at each other like two rivalling dogs sizing each other up, gauging whether to fight or ignore. If it wasn’t for the music pouring from Dean’s fingers you probably would have been able to cut through the silence that would have stretched between them.

Suddenly Luci’s expression shifts, his eyes flick to the strings of the guitar and up again, humour bleeding into and warming up his ice blue eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. He does an amused facial shrug, bowing his head a little as if conceding to a point. Dean realises he is reacting to the song. ‘Not ready to make nice’ by _Dixie Chicks_. Dean hadn’t even realised he’s playing it. He smirks.

”Cas tells me you sing well,” Luci says. “Sing me something.”

Yeah right. Well, why the fuck not? Give the creepy fucker a little jab. Dean launches into an old Elvis song. “ _You look like an angel, Walk like an angel, Talk like an angel, But I got wise... You're the devil in disguise, Oh yes you are, The devil in disguise…_ ”. To Dean’s surprise, Luci bursts out laughing like it is a grand joke and Dean finds himself grinning in response. He switches over to a song that hits a lot more closer to home for him personally, but still keeps to the theme he set up. He’s not intending to insult this time. He plays ‘Old No. 7’ by _The Devil makes Three_ , making a real performance of it. Surprising Dean again, Luci sings along, filling in the background comp, not sounding half bad. Once again he’s reminded he doesn’t actually _know_ the guy. There’s clearly a huge difference between being sworn enemies and being “friends” with him. Although using the term friends is stretching it. _Far_.

”Castiel made a sound investment when buying you that one,” Luci says, pleased lilt to his voice, as the last lingering tones fade away. He takes another hit on his beer and studies Dean from under those heavy eyelids, a slight hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Pride mingles with resentment in Dean. Pride, because, you know, he’s _awesome_. And resentment, because he doesn’t want Luci to be pleased with him. He wants Luci’s skin to crawl and itch the same way Dean’s does in his presence. He wants Luci to _stay the fuck away_. The man is dangerous and creepy and there’s something off about him. “Yeah well, I’m worth it,” he says offhandedly.

Lucifer hums. “You are. It’s a shame you don’t really believe it,” he says thoughtfully.

Anger boils up within Dean. Fuck Luci for coming here and putting him on the spot! For calling Dean out on his low sense of self-worth. Dude needs a smackdown to get him down from those high horses he’s riding!

* * *

Sam hears the shouting before he even enters the apartment.

” _Fuck you, Luci! You’re dead, you hear me? Dead!_ ”

Sam’s heart starts racing, he fumbles with the key in the lock, trying to get it open as soon as possible. Wrenching it open he sees… Dean and Lucifer side by side on the couch _playing Tekken_. Dean throws his arms in the air in a victory gesture. “Woohoo! Take that, _sucker_!” He shoves the disgruntled Lucifer on the shoulder and cackles. _Oh._ Well if they are going to beat the living crap out of each other, this is the way to do it.

Dean turns around and spots him. “Heya, Sammy! Come in and take over for this loser, will ya? Show him how it’s done. I’ll get you a beer,” he says excitedly and jumps over the back of the couch. He reaches out to ruffle Lucifer’s hair teasingly (like he always does to his opponent when he is winning in video games) but Luci evades with a disgusted sound. Halfway to the kitchen Dean stops. “Oh, and, Sammy? Don’t ever play chess with this fucker. It’s fucking impossible to win. I bet he cheats,” he says and continues into the kitchen followed by Luci’s snigger.

When Sam has taken his jacket and boots off (sloppily dumping them in the hallway, Dean will nag about it later like he always does) he makes a beeline into the living room leaning on the couch beside Luci with a bemused expression. Lucifer’s looking at him with a burning gaze. Possessively. “You want this, right? I’m warning you, this is the last time I’m going to ask, Sammy. After this, I will let my own wishes guide my actions.”

Sam’s mouth is dry, heart pounding. The tone of Lucifer’s voice makes it sound like a threat, but it isn’t fear he is feeling, it’s excitement. “Yeah… I want this.” What ‘ _this_ ’ is, isn’t defined. He’s not sure what he’s agreeing to. It’s more than just hanging out together. He can see that in Lucifer’s eyes. The way they darken and turn sharply pleased at the answer. He doesn’t actually know what Luci wants from him. He never did understand that. All he knows is that he feels whole when he’s alone with Lucifer and that he really, _really_ wants to find out what Luci’s wishes are, no matter the cost. He’d been stuck on the guy since he was 13 for crying out loud. Now more than ever, when all the sudden Lucifer had made himself part of everyday life, wedging himself in with the help of Cas.

Dean comes back in the room carrying three beers. Sam manages not to jump away, but still feels caught in the act. “Dude! Don’t just hang there, take the control and sit yourself down so I can beat your ass too, jerkface!” Dean smirks.

”Oh yeah? We’ll see who beats who, asshat,” Sam retorts and climbs over the backrest to sit next to Luci in the spot Cas usually occupies. Dean scoots by them to take his seat, handing out beers as he passes. There are already a couple of empty bottles on the table, alongside a chessboard and a deck of cards. Sam wonders how long Luci has been there and how they’ve managed to get along so well. 

They don’t, it proves. Snide remarks keep flying back and forth between Lucifer and his brother, but instead of fighting their usual way they play games. Taunting and jeering at each other. But it’s more than Sam has ever been able to hope for. And it’s a start.

* * *

**PRIVATE EYES - THEY’RE WATCHING YOU**

* * *

Early April 2014

Three days before the derby

Dean opted to walk to clear his head after the TV interviews. Today has been exhausting. The season is nearing its end and both Free Will and the Angels have shaken most of the competition off. It’s clear that both teams will with all likeliness have a shot at reaching the ChHL so the media interest is huge. Their next game has been moved to this city, away from twin towns due to the public interest, and the Angels' ice hall couldn’t house the anticipated number of spectators. Also, since Free Will currently doesn’t have a real home arena, it was decided by the national hockey board that this would make it juster.

So both teams are in the city to do a shitload of magazine interviews, meet-and-greets, and television spots. Then, three days hence they will face off on the ice again. Dean secretly loves the limelight. It makes him feel like a fucking rock star. But all that attention is also nerve-wracking. Especially since so many questions are centered around “Demon Dean VS the Angel in the Centerfold”. He’s scared shitless that he’ll mistakenly out himself with a slip of the tongue. Fuck. Not even Sam knows he’s bi and that Cas is his _boyfriend_. (Only exception he knows of is _see-it-all-fucking-know-it-all-_ Lucifer! And he isn’t sure if Luci just knows he has a thing for Cas or that they are, in fact, together. But for some reason, Luce isn’t talking.) Thus he’s gone through the day totally sober not to fuck up and now his head is swimming from exhaustion.

Oh, and that’s another thing. Cas, as a boyfriend? Hell if it isn’t an emotional train wreck! Cas is totally unpredictable, manipulative, and bossy. And he’s sweet, dorky, and thoughtful. He has Dean totally wrapped around his finger and that feels both good and fucking frustrating. Frustrating because anytime Dean tried to yank control of their relationship out of his hands, it’s backfired. Take for instance, how they were supposed to act in public.

Amongst friends, it’s okay to be somewhat flirty and a slip no longer feels like a huge catastrophe. He blames Balt for that. Dude’s an LGBTQ-movement all on his own. He’s “I’m-here-and-I’m- _whatever-you-want-me-to-be-sweetheart_ ” in a good-natured, natural way that makes it easy to forget that flirty banter amongst men isn’t common practise or even acceptable “in the real world”. Especially now that the Winchesters’ group of friends has started to mingle with the Angels frequently, courtesy of Castiel’s affiliation to the brothers. The Angels are a closely knit group, none of them local, so they don’t hang out much with others than themselves. They are, however, surprisingly open to accept the company of new people. Apparently, some of their reclusiveness has been caused by the strict regulations they had been subjected to before. Now their trainer has disappeared who knows where (Seriously? What’s up with that? Raphael turning no-show all the sudden?) and Lucifer calls the shots. They still have rules of course, but much more humane ones (in Dean’s mind). Anyway, the point is, they hang out and the general atmosphere is one that made him forget himself on several occasions, letting touches linger too long or go where they shouldn’t.

He’s been getting more than a few odd looks lately from friends and teammates. That’s when he’d decided to take control of the situation and it had backfired. He’s the one fraying at the edges for it. Cas seems totally unconcerned…

* * *

A few weeks earlier…

Benny’s thoughtful eyes follow him as he gets up from the booth and makes his way to the bar. He can practically feel them burn on the back of his skull. It’s the third time tonight he’s caught Benny eyeing him that way and it’s his own God damned fault. It’s soo hard to keep his hands off Cas. One would think it’d be easier now when they sleep together somewhat regularly and Cas is _his_ , but it isn’t. On the contrary, every touch sparks greater craving, like a drug addiction. Cas, the son of a bitch, is totally chill, always in control of himself in public. None of _his_ touches can be perceived as anything but platonic, and those that aren’t are well hidden and only serves to drive Dean from his senses.

A look over his shoulder confirms that Benny’s still watching him. _Shit. I’ve screwed up._ Not too many minutes earlier he’d been sitting beside Cas at the table, Cas had made some silly joke and he’d slapped Cas’ thigh while laughing. Nothing out of the ordinary for him to do. Except he’s tipsy and relaxed, and by new habit his hand lingered afterwards, familiar and proprietary. He hadn’t even thought about it, caught up in a conversation with Sam as he was until Cas tapped twice lightly with a finger on his hand as a reminder. Of course, _of course_ , Benny had _seen_. Fuck, he might as well write “Faggot” on his forehead and dress in a rainbow flag if he doesn’t get the situation under control somehow.

He gets the bartender’s attention and signals for another round. As the beers are put in front of him somebody throws an arm over his shoulder in a friendly manner. “You need help to carry that?” Cas asks, giving him a toothy smile.

_Benny is watching._ Heart pounding in his chest, he shrugs Cas off him as if burned. “Don’t touch me!” he says with a disgusted scowl. Cas stiffens, eyes widening just for a fraction before his face shutters down into the unreadable mask he wears so well. His pupils contract. Dean leans in close and hisses in angry whispers. “I’ve got a reputation to withhold, Angel. You can’t be all over me, okay? Everyone will know. I’m supposed to be into girls remember?” Yeah. As if _Cas_ is the one who kept slipping up. _Pfft_. ‘Dean the Douche’ at his finest moment.

Cas pupils contract further to mere pinpricks, there’s a twitch in a muscle by his eyes but apart from that, there’s no other indication that he takes offense. His expression remains neutral and amiable as ever. “My apologies. I did not realise my behaviour was out of line. I wouldn’t want to cause you unnecessary distress. From now on I shall let you dictate my conduct and act in accordance with your example,” he says with a polite inclination of his head and a pleasant lilt to his voice. Then he takes some of the beers from the bar and turns away, carrying them over to the table.

_Well shit._ It’s never a good sign that Cas reverts into ‘default dictionary mode’ unless they are in bed. The closer Cas has become with the Winchesters, the more relaxed his way of speaking has become. He no longer sounds like a dictionary on a regular basis. Dean shoves away the guilt of lashing out unjustly. As always his lizard brain had taken over when he was under pressure, but it’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. He’ll just have to flirt with a couple of girls and everyone would see he’s the same old ladykiller Dean. Cas will forgive him, won’t he? He will. He has to. 

Dean takes the remaining beers from the bar and heads to their table, sitting down beside Benny instead of Cas. Purposefully not looking at his boyfriend if it can be avoided. Quick glances his way reveals that Cas doesn’t seem to be looking his way either and isn’t showing any sign of being in a bad mood. They are fine. _It’s fine._ The first indication he should have taken about that they aren’t fine, is that he has to keep telling himself that they are...

* * *

An hour later Dean’s running on autopilot. Beside him, Andrea sits snuggled up to Benny. Gadreel and Adam are caught up in a serious discussion further down the table (mismatched as their personalities are they still seem to have quite a bromance blossoming between them). On the other side, Sam’s squeezed in between Lucifer and that dark-haired Ruby chick. Beside her and directly opposite Dean, Cas is seated, currently in conversation with the random chick Dean has in his lap. Even with his geeky shirt (this one crimson with “ _Maybe I’m just that Good_ ” - Liam Dunbar printed on it) he looks gorgeous. His hair has gotten too long to be worn in the bedhead manner Cas seems to prefer. Instead, he keeps it parted on the side and falling haphazardly down over his forehead, curling softly. It reaches down to his brows by now. Dean just wants to lean over the table and run his fingers through the silky soft strands. 

If they were alone he would bury his hands in it, grab with his fists and tug his head backwards, exposing the long line of Cas’ throat and mouth his way down while Cas came undone making those exquisite noises that went like a current through Dean’s body. But they aren’t alone and he has been staring at Cas under the pretence of listening to him talk. In reality, he hasn’t heard a word. He catches Lucifer watching him from under those heavy lids, face locked in that impassive, condescending expression that Dean hates. Those icy blues give away nothing but one can see cogwheels ticking away behind, missing _nothing_. Dean has an appearance to keep up, feeling caught out he bends his head down and kisses the girl in his lap on her neck, splaying the hand around her over her stomach. His gut twists uncomfortably as she giggles and leans into him bending her neck to give him better access. Cas seems totally undisturbed by the display, not pausing his conversation and the friendly smile not even twitching. Luci gives more reaction. The corner of his lips quirks up slightly in a smirk, eyes getting a mocking gleam. He doesn’t know, does he?

The thought strikes Dean that he might. Even if Cas has kept his promise and not told him anything. Hanging around with Luci (lately, Cas has insisted he should tag along when Dean and Sam do something with Cas) has proved the fucker to be just as creepy as he appears. Quiet most of the time, just watching, _studying_ people, he has an uncanny ability to make bullseye statements about people when he does speak. Wickedly smart, he probably sees right through Dean. He fights down the nausea that causes, closes his eyes to block out his audience and plays up his game, mouthing along the neck in front of him and stroking the soft stomach. He feels the girl’s breath hitch and goosebumps erupt under his lips. He feels dirty, and not in a good way.

He doesn’t even notice Cas abandoning the table for the dance floor until the girl turns around in his lap, straddling him and seeking his mouth with her own. He wants to shove her off, instead, he lets it happen. It’s what he would normally do. What’s expected of him.

”Dean, should you really be doing that in public?” Sam’s annoyed voice calls for his attention. Sure enough, the voice is paired with a bitchface. That’s odd. Sam has never been bothered by Dean’s open promiscuity before. Luci looks amused and Gadreel is looking at him with a distasteful bitchface that rivals Sammy’s.

”Whoa, brother. Since when did you become such prude?” Benny says to Sam, drawing the bitchface to himself.

”Yeah, Sammy. I do what the fuck I want in public,” Dean answers and lets his hands flow over the girl’s back to grab her ass and pull her against him. She giggles and moves with the rhythmic grinding guidance of his hands. 

”Is that so?” Luci purrs and raises an eyebrow, barely contained fucking _glee_ glittering in his eyes like it’s the joke of the century. (It _is_ , and he wants to fucking slug the asshole for deducting that.)

Balt suddenly drops down in the spot Cas vacated. “It seems Cassie has commandeered my date for the evening so I’ll have to settle for your company,” and turning towards Ruby smiling, “Hello there, darling. I don’t think we’ve met. I’d remember such precious jewel as yourself. I’m Balt, what’s your name, sweetheart?”

Dean doesn’t hear Ruby’s answer as his attention has flown to the dance floor. His heart rate shoots up dangerously the moment he lays eyes on Cas, dancing with (grinding against) a sweet looking brunette. He’s kissing her neck very much, in the same manner, Dean just had done. His hands roam down over her back, grabbing her ass and pulling her close, just like Dean had. Dean’s breath quickens, cheeks heating up. Cas’ eyes flick to meet his and then he’s kissing the girl. _Just like Dean had done._

 

_**Mine!Mine!Mine!Mine!Mine!**_

 

Searing jealousy shoots through him like a red hot poker in his gut. The only thing stopping him from launching himself towards the dance floor is the girl in his lap. She mistakes his flushed cheeks and quickened breath for arousal, kissing and licking his neck and shoulder while rubbing against him. He’s so far from aroused as can be, feeling only grossed out, the feeling multiplied hundredfold by the sight of _his **boyfriend's**_ hands roaming somebody else’s body. Cas, true to his word, is acting in accordance with his example. 

He tears the girl off himself, more or less shoving her to the side, she would have fallen to the floor had Balt not had quick reflexes and shot out an arm to steady her. “You know what, this ain't happening. I don’t wanna make my brother uncomfortable, you can go away,” he says to the girl who stares at him with a shocked expression. It’s harsh and rude but he doesn’t give a shit. It’s all he can do to fight the urge to hit her. It isn’t her fault he feels dirtied by her touch or that jealousy courses through his veins like poison, draping him in anger hot enough to almost make him see red.

She gapes at him, looking like she’s trying to say something but nothing coming out. Anger and hurt war for dominance in her eyes. Lucifer’s mocking laughter sends hurt into the winning position. She tears up, turns on her heels and flees. It takes one glance at Luci to confirm the laughter is directed at him, not her. Another glance towards the dance floor reveals Cas disentangling himself from the girl in a much more polite―but equally final―manner. Yet Dean’s mind can’t stop flashing him pictures of Cas kissing her, of Cas making out with Lisa, of Cas naked on top of Bree McKenna… _Fuck! Get a grip, Winchester!_

Andrea calls him an asshole, he barely hears due to the pounding in his ears. He gets up and makes his way to the men’s room, not looking at anyone. He just can’t deal. It’s too much. The ever-present rage he keeps walled away flaring hot and noxious. He did this to himself. He’s useless. _Useless!_ In the restroom, he stares into the mirror for a minute before he slams his fist into it in a fit of disgust. It cracks and cuts his knuckles. Nine fractured images of himself stare back at him, all equally disgusted. Dad was right. He knew. He always knew. He saw right through Dean from the very beginning. A dirty, disgusting, fucking good-for-nothing faggot.

_”Bet you can't wait 'til you're old enough to let some dirty unwashed trucker fuck your ass in a filthy rest stop toilet. Beggin' for it like a useless whore! You're useless, Dean! Good for nothing shit!”_

_Well fuck you, dad! So what if I am?_ Maybe not a trucker, but he’d sure as hell let Cas fuck him anywhere. And he has begged for it, more than once. Pleaded desperately for it. All to see his Angel’s composure crumble into equally desperate want. And now, he can’t keep himself together long enough not to show the world what a depraved little whore he really is. Not nearly good enough for someone like Cas. _Well fuck!_ Even if it wasn’t for Cas, it’s not like he’d be able to make his attraction for men go away now that he’d acknowledged it. Pandora’s box is opened. Who’s to say that the day Cas leaves him for somebody worthy, he won’t end up at some shitty rest stop to get banged by some dirty stranger? Dad was right. He’s nothing but a coat of fancy paint over a rusty piece of rotten junk. 

The anger has faded into self-loathing and sent him hurtling down into that dark headspace he’s so familiar with. Cas always showers him with praise and compliments, telling him how beautiful he is, how brave, how radiant his soul is, how good and passionate he is. He’d heard it so often lately that he’d forgotten it isn’t true. He’d let himself be deluded by it. Forgetting for a while that he’s broken and ugly on the inside. The only thing he’d done right is raising Sam. And considering how much he’d learned about his little brother through hanging with him and Cas, he’d probably made huge mistakes there too. He shouldn’t have gone out to party so much when Sam was still a teen in school. He shouldn’t have been so selfish wanting Sam to live with him instead of Bobby. It would have been good for Sam to have a constant, adult, _good_ role model. Not some good-for-nothing older brother with a tendency to binge drink and fuck any pretty girl that’d let him. Who came home with bloody knuckles in the wee morning hours when Sam had school. He should have asked more questions, set firmer rules. Most of the time he had no idea what Sam was doing as he himself was busy hustling pool, committing petty crimes or chatting up the closest skirt. He’d kept tabs on Sam via cell phones, taking what he said at face value. And teenagers lie.

He’d kept up his criminal ways far longer than he needed to, too proud to lean too heavily on the support of Gabe and Bobby. Obsessed with keeping the fridge and pantry fully stocked. No way he was ever gonna let Sam go hungry again. Handouts still stung, no matter how good the intent behind them was. Not until they moved up a division and the pay has been good enough that he could stop. _Goddammit! Stop thinking about how you’ve failed, Sammy! He’s the only one you’ve done right by! Fuck!_

He grips the sink so hard his knuckles turn white and blood oozes from the hand he damaged when hitting the mirror. He feels dizzy, his extremities numb, cold sweat breaking out. Why do people even want to spend time with him? It’s a mystery. He isn’t funny. He isn’t smart. He’s mean and temperamental. Just pretty to look at. But right now, looking in the shattered mirror, he can’t see it. Usually, he does. He knows he’s good looking. Supposedly. But looking back at him now are nine pallid faces, sunken and hollow like decomposing skulls. If there’d been maggots crawling around in there, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

He turns on the cold water and splashes his face. Hoping it will make him feel better. It doesn’t. His mind once again decides to show him pictures of Cas in passionate lovemaking with someone else. Somebody worthy. Somebody better than him. He hisses and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shut the images out. Pointless of course. Jealousy war with the absolute knowledge that Cas deserves better. He _isn’t good enough_ for Cas. He fights to keep breathing normally, to hold on to control. This is not the time and place to get a fully fledged panic attack.

He hears the door open and then being locked. (How the fuck did he forget to lock when he came in here?) He opens his eyes to find fucking Lucifer leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Karma’s a bitch isn’t she?” he says, voice surprisingly neutral.

Dean straightens up, trying to look composed. To no avail. He’s a mess and looks thereafter. “What the fuck do you want, Luci? Come here to gloat?” he spits. He’s in no shape for this confrontation. 

Luci scoffs. “I had my fun while you were at the table. I’m here to check up on you.”

”Yeah right. You know, right? He told you?” Dean’s stomach churns. Cas promised not to tell.

”He didn’t have to, _you_ did, jackass,” Lucifer answers, annoyed. “It’s a wonder your friends are blind to it. So stuck in their idea of who you are, they won’t see the whole picture.”

”Yeah, well, excuse me for not shedding any tears for them not seeing me as the disgusting faggot I am.”

”Is that how you see Castiel?” Luci asks and raises an eyebrow.

”Of course not!” The mere idea of looking down on Cas that way horrifies him. “He’s…” _Perfect. Joy. A wonder._

”So you see Balt, Alfie, and Gadreel that way?” Luci persists. Still leaning against the wall in that infuriating relaxed manner he has.

”No, no. Not at all. That’s not what I’m sa―”

”How about Pamela, or Adam?”

_Whoa, whoa, what?!_ Dean’s brain comes to a screeching halt. He has never even entertained the thought of any of his friends being, you know, like _that._ Well. Pamela, yes. She never made a secret about enjoying a little threesome action in the sack. But it’s different for girls. They’re _supposed_ to be into a little girl on girl action now and then. (No, Dean, that’s porn talking. Not reality.) But _Adam_? Luci could be lying. He could. But for what purpose?

In the face of Dean’s stunned silence, Luci speaks up. “I thought so. The question is, Dean, what makes you deserve those degrading slurs when you don’t think they do, hmm?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. Luci’s right of course. He is, as much as it irks Dean to admit it. But the words _“Useless, worthless, good for nothing,”_ bounce around in his skull. So fine. It isn’t what he feels for Cas that makes him that way. They have always rung true. He’s a coward. Hiding under a lot of bravado. Looking as proud and impressive as an old Victorian wooden manor, but empty on the inside, walls corrupted by rot. Luci looks at him as if he’s reading his mind. Dean closes his mouth again and stares into the mirror.

Luci pushes himself off the wall and saunters up to him. Dean stiffens as Luci hangs his elbow over his shoulder, leaning on Dean casually and looking at Dean’s reflections. Dean’s heart pounds harshly in his chest. Yet he holds back his gut reaction to lash out or shake the older man off. Lucifer hums. “You know, Dean, when I look in this mirror I see what you see.” Of course he does. Nothing escapes those creepy, calculating eyes. No wonder Lucifer hates his guts. Luci turns his head to look at Dean’s face directly. “But I also see what Sam and Castiel sees. You think Cassie and Sam don’t see the real you. They do, they just interpret you different than you do. And they’re not wrong.”

That jars Dean. He studies Luci in the mirror, looking for insincerity, finding none. In fact, Luci looks far more open than he usually does. It doesn’t add up. “What you playing at?” he asks suspiciously.

Luci sighs like Dean’s being particularly tiresome, and straightens up. He takes a hold of Dean’s wounded hand, grasping firmer when Dean tries to pull away. Dean then lets him hold up the wound for inspection, arm pliant but the rest of his body tense and ready to fight, to pull back, ready to take action. “Then there’s the image your friends and fans have. The picture you’ve painted for them. The one you’re trying to live up to right now,” Luci continues talking as if Dean never had spoken, turning the hand this way and that. Luci takes a small pocket knife out of his jeans. “Now hold still,” he commands and pushes a button, making the blade pop out with a * _tzing_ *. Dean tries to jerk his hand back but Luci holds it firmly. “I said _hold still_.” Dean relaxes his hand, fully on guard as Luci brings the thin razor-sharp blade towards his wound. The grip turns gentle and very carefully Luci digs with the point of the blade, dislodging a piece of mirror glass that falls into the sink with a tiny clink, leaving a bloody smear. Luci keeps working at dislodging small fragments and starts talking like there has been no interlude. “The image you’ve created and what you see in the mirror are vastly different, Dean, yet both of the images are currently true. If you hold on to both, they are going to destroy you. You should choose more wisely what reflection you want to look back at you.”

Luci studies his work, seemingly satisfied he turns the tap water to hot and washes his knife, drying it off on his jeans, he pushes the button again to retract the blade and puts it away. He then holds Dean’s hand under the running water, washing the wound. It stings. Dean wonders why he goes along with it. And why Luci’s acting so out of character. _Maybe he isn’t?_ says a nagging thought in the back of his mind. After all, there must be a reason he’s so respected amongst the Angels, or that Cas has taken to him so strongly. He resents that thought. He doesn’t want to feel sympathetic towards the Angels’ captain. There are too many years of hate and loathing between them. No, there must be some other reason. He’s playing at something. Angling for a goal. Yet he lets Luci patch him up. Dab his wound dry with a cloth handkerchief and holds it pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding on Luci’s command, all the while studying the man with a bemused scowl. Luci unbuttons a few buttons on his thick, army green shirt and digs inside into a hidden pocket. Dean catches a glimpse of a holster and the Taurus underneath. Luci’s carrying. For some unfathomable reason, Dean feels reassured by that, which makes no sense _at all._ None. Whatsoever. That should scare him. It doesn’t. He wishes he had his own Taurus on him. A comfortable weight. A confidence boost.

Luci’s hand pulls out with a small first aid kit. He gestures for Dean to give him his hand back, so Dean does, but his eyes catch on the handkerchief he’d been holding against the wound. He stares at it while Luci washes the wound with those little antiseptic patches and then bandages the hand. The gold letters “ _L.S._ ” mesmerises Dean. The same initials that are carved onto Luci’s Taurus, that should say “ _L.M_.” instead. Luci pockets the first aid kit and buttons his shirt back up, it’s bulky enough not to show the gun underneath. He holds out his hand to get the handkerchief back. Dean doesn’t give it to him. “It takes one to know one, huh?” he says instead.

”Excuse me?” Luci raises his eyebrows in question.

Dean angles the handkerchief to make the initials visible. “Dual self-images? Both of them true?” he asks before handing it back.

Luci tilts his head and purses his lips, looking at him thoughtfully with a slight frown for a while before looking down on the handkerchief, running his thumb over the initials. “Out of the mouth of babes...,” he mutters to himself and pockets the cloth. Looking up again he says “Well, since you seem to be back on your mental feet, I’m out of here,” and slaps Dean on the shoulder before turning on his heels and walking out.

Dean is left standing to stare at the door and then down on his bandaged hand wondering what the hell just happened. His anger has subsided, his panic attack is sufficiently thwarted. He still feels like a fraud, because obviously, he is one. But he’s no longer falling into that deep dark headspace he’s so familiar with. Instead, he’s wondering about Lucifer. Why had he come in here? Hardly to make Dean feel better about himself. “ _...to check up on you._ ” Yeah right. Not likely.

* * *

**THE TWISTED IMAGE IN THE FUNHOUSE MIRROR**

* * *

After that day Cas mirrored any flirting Dean did. If Dean chatted up a girl, so did Cas, although Cas didn’t keep himself strictly to girls. If Dean kissed somebody else (which he tried to avoid), so did Cas. Even if they weren’t at the same place. If Dean had a girl under his arm, you could bet your ass that a paparazzi photo of Cas and somebody (usually somebody exquisite―a photo model, a pop star, an actor/actress, a famous athlete) would show up the day after. _How_ Cas knew remained a mystery, but he knew. It was an emotional chicken race. Like Dean’s hands and mouth were directly wired to Castiel’s. He knew that whether his boyfriend was there or not―however, he touched somebody, his boyfriend’s hands would touch somebody that _wasn’t him_ the same way. And if they were in the same place, Cas made sure he saw. Sometimes mirroring him to perfection in real time, eyes locked with Dean as he did, pupils so contracted his eyes seemed almost slate grey. But that was the only show of negative emotion. If Cas was jealous it didn’t show _at all_. Cas never brought up Dean’s outburst or fucked up behaviour, his pathetic attempt at control. (In fact, when Dean tried to bring it up, he was stonewalled. “ _It’s fine, Dean. If that’s what you need to feel comfortable, I’ll adhere. End of discussion._ ”)

It wasn’t fine. They weren’t fine. Dean knew it. Dean’s attempt at controlling the situation backfired, not because it wasn’t convincing, but because Dean couldn’t take the jealousy. Because he had to battle nausea at his own behaviour, the anger that followed, the nerves that frayed him every time he turned on his charm, knowing somebody else would be subjected to the same treatment from Cas. The desperation he felt thinking he was the only one jealous, and fear that it meant Cas would leave him. Over and over again it sent him down in dark thoughts. It made him feel unworthy, rotten to the core, disgusting, falling to pieces. But when they were alone Cas put him back together with praise and worship. He knew when to just hold Dean and when to fuck him senseless. Sometimes he was totally in control of himself and sometimes he fell apart at the merest of Dean’s touches. If Dean had thought himself to be addicted before, now he _needed_ Cas desperately to even function. Cas was the only thing keeping him afloat in that constant undertow he had created for himself. How Cas could remain so cool about it was a mystery.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard [Old No. 7 by _The Devil Makes Three_](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/111170110415/spoiler-kinda-but-not-dean-plays-this-song-in) you should follow the link and listen to it. It's Dean Winchester to the core! 
> 
> Next chapter will be the timeline depicted here from the Angel-brothers POV, instead of the Winchester-brothers.
> 
> Comments? You know I thrive on comments.


	63. Toxic Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer sees possible trouble on the horizon. Cas may not have been quite as cool with Dean's little act as he seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter.**  
>  **Notes:**  
>  Okay, you got to wait longer for this than you needed. Once again it's because I had to divide this chapter. The next chapter is almost done and is purely Samfier. It should be up by tomorrow because I really need to sleep right now. :P Sorry. Horrible basic needs.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THEY SEE YOUR EVERY MOVE**

* * *

Luci enjoys studying dynamics within a group. He’s always enjoyed that, whether it is watching a group of animals or people doesn’t matter. For every individual that came or left a group, the dynamics shifted. It’s a hobby of his. It’s one of the things that made it so entertaining to spend time with Balt, and now with the Winchesters and their friends. Especially nights like this, when the Angels mingle with the Freewillians. There are a number of, let’s call it cultural differences, to be overcome. The general team-rivalry to name one. Not so difficult to overcome now when both teams are doing so well, instead the twin-towns-against-the-world attitude kicked into gear. Secondly there is the inherent Angel Falls/Freeville animosity to deal with. It comes mostly from outside and quite frankly acts as an instrument to tie the groups together, but for different reasons. The Angels have strict rules about “Nobody gets left behind”. You go out as a group, you protect and take care of everyone in the group. Even if you don’t like them or they happen not to be Angels. This is _law_ and if anyone doesn’t adhere, Luci sees to that they are disciplined for it. Now the Freewillians on the other hand, don’t have official rules about it yet act the same. Their motivating force is more like “Don’t spit on my prom-date”. The friends of the Winchesters are all strong people with big hearts who demand respect. They don’t sit idly by and watch when someone in their company get shit. For them it’s a thing of honour.

There are other things too that come into play. Most of the Freewillian bunch have grown up together or have lived in the same town as the others all their life. They have a fairly homogenous view of things, whereas the Angels come from all over, with vastly different backgrounds. All in all the integration goes well, though. New friendships are formed. But―and this is a big but―old friendships are put to the test. There’s possible trouble on the horizon. 

Even a blind man could see Dean is crazy about Cas. That doesn’t go unnoticed. His friends seem to think of it as a bromance, unable to recognize that the older Winchester is in love simply because they are stuck on the idea that he’s straight. In love or not, Dean’s obsession with Cas creates some unrest. One example of this is playing out at the moment, right in front of Luci.

”So brother,” Benny says, leaning on the table addressing Dean. “Whatta ya say, we go ice fishin’ on Wednesday mornin’?”

”Nah. No can do,” Dean grins and throws an arm around Cas neck while looking at Benny. “Sorry. Promised the Angel I’m gonna teach him how to shoot,” he says and pats Castiel’s chest twice.

”Dean, it’s better if you go with Benny. Me, handling firearms, poses an unnecessary danger to you, and your safety co―” Cas begins to protest but Dean breaks him off.

”Whoa there, buddy. I’m calling the shots here. I told you I’m gonna teach you how to shoot, and I will. Even if it kills all of us. Do you understand?” Dean says seriously to Cas.

”Yes, Dean. I understand,” Cas answers, looking defeated and morose.

Benny leans back, giving the two of them a tight-lipped, polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

This is the third time this evening Benny has asked Dean to do something with him and got blown off because of Cas. And Luci worries it may become a problem. Benny has been Dean’s best friend for a long time and his loyalty has never wavered. He was the first one to welcome Cas as part of the group once Sam had established that they were friends, but judging by the stolen looks he gives Cas now and then, he’s beginning to regret that. Benny’s a good liar. The jealousy is well hidden, but it’s there. Dean doesn’t even seem to realize he makes his best friend think he’s being replaced. How could he? When he’s busy being a fool in love. Luci refrains from heaving an exasperated sigh.

Luci wonders if this is what Mikey felt like when the big _Jurassic Park_ toy conflict erupted amongst his brothers when Luci was eight and Mikey eleven. Doug had stolen Luci’s raptor figure and before anyone knew it it had escalated to a vindictive struggle involving at least ten of his brothers with Mikey in the middle trying to create peace and order. Internally, Luci asks his big brother for forgiveness for that. The whole debacle had served as an example of why _Otac_ stressed the importance of unity amongst brothers trained from a very early age in scheming and causing pain. (Most importantly, though, Luci did get his raptor back in the end.)

A while later, Luci is contemplating if he should give Dean a heads up about Benny’s jealousy, to try to forestall any trouble. That’s when Cas and Dean come to a disagreement by the bar. Cas comes back carrying a couple of beers, smiling. Cas is an _excellent_ liar. The only thing that gives up how pissed off he is―is his eyes. Benny looks very pleased when Dean comes back carrying the rest of the beers and opts to sit beside him instead of Cas. Luci notes how Benny gets more friendly towards Cas again when Dean tries to ignore Cas. Well then. Castiel can probably handle a little drama in order to avoid a bigger one. No need to tell Dean. The trust issues are still so deep from Dean’s side, Luci isn’t sure he would be believed. Not that Luci can blame him. Yet he does, to an extent.

Dean’s quick to jump to conclusions and stick to them. The constant wrongful accusations about Luci’s hostile intentions towards Sam pisses Luci off, always did. All in all, he _likes_ Dean. But the younger man tests his patience over and over. Luci doesn’t _do_ hate, not like Dean. Righteous anger on the other hand… Maybe that’s the true reason why he decides not to inform Dean about the BFF-fight brewing. Either way, Dean is a key-player in the game Luci is playing. You can’t have one Winchester brother without the other. He needs both to gain the man’s trust and to strengthen his confidence and sense of self-worth before hell breaks loose like he’s sure it will. It’s just a matter of time before word gets out exactly how deeply emotionally involved he has become with Sam and Cas. So when Dean flees into the restroom later Luci follows to make sure he’s alright.

* * *

**WHO GOES THERE?**

* * *

Castiel’s bed is empty when Luci comes to wake him up for a sparring session, even though he’d opted to come home with the rest of the Angels after partying with the Freewillians the night before rather than sleeping at the Winchesters. But then again, he might have changed his mind and gone over there in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be the first time, so Luci thinks nothing of it until he gets down to the gym and Cas is already there, only wearing a pair of loose-fitting black lounge pants. Bare feet and bare-chested he’s attacking the punching bag with furious punches and kicks while East 17’s ‘Steam’ blasts from the speakers, keeping up with the rhythm of the song. By the look of things he’s been at it for a while. He is covered with sweat. It’s literally pouring from his body, as if he just got out of a shower. His hair clings to his face, so soaked in sweat it looks black. His muscles are contracted and his veins prominent, chest and face red. Yes, he has been here quite a while indeed. The music slips into some kind of house music song Luci has never heard. Just an incessant beat really. It’s good workout music, though, so he doesn’t mind.

Cas throws him a single glance to acknowledge his presence, that’s all. Luci begins to warm up, studying his chosen brother. Castiel is _livid_. Not even when he lost his temper at Dean on the ice was he anywhere near as furious as he is now. Mouth compressed to a small thin line, eyebrows drawn down in a deep scowl but eyes open wide, practically _glowing_ blue, his whole being crackling with unrestrained power. It’s quite a sight. Castiel is demonstrating how complex and fascinating the construct of a living body is. How it adapts and changes depending on what hormones and chemicals it produces, how versatile and enduring it can be. Cas who is a master at being passive, who can be still and idle for hours, patiently waiting for a command or ponder over a tricky problem, is now anything but. The strain he is putting on his body is tremendous and relentless. Luci admires the beauty of it while he goes over every little detail of how a human body works in his head, from the nucleus and upward, putting it in context of what’s going on inside of Cas at the moment. Stepping out of the mechanics behind Castiel’s body, it’s also a very aesthetically pleasing sight. He is toned, light on his feet, graceful and fast, and _so very_ powerful.

Cas might have seemed to pay him no heed, but the moment Luci is done warming up he turns around to face him, strides to stand in front of Luci and takes a fighting stance. It takes one direct look in his eyes to see that he has control despite the fury, so Luci takes his position too. No sooner is he in place before Cas darts in for a quick attack that Luci blocks and counters. Cas evades and dances away again, quick on his feet. It goes on like that for a couple of rounds, more a test of reflexes and agility than actual melee which suits Luci just fine.

It takes almost 20 minutes of that before Cas speaks up. “I cannot wrap my head around this Luci,” he says, frustration apparent in his voice. “I thought I made it abundantly clear to him that I will not be ill-treated, then he goes and pulls this-this, this _bloody stunt_ out of nowhere!” He hisses between gritted teeth and goes to fetch a water bottle by the mirrored wall. Grabbing the remote to the music player and shutting it off while he’s at it.

This is the closest thing to a verbal admission Cas has given to him and Dean being together. The only confirmation given before that was the lack of further plans of how to pursue the skittish Winchester. “Could he have failed to understand? What were your exact words?” Luci asks and takes a sip of his own water bottle.

Staring angrily at himself in mirror covering the whole wall of the gym at one side, Cas answers. “I believe my exact words were ‘I will not tolerate infidelity. If you can’t keep your dick to yourself, then neither will I. Intoxication is not an excuse, your actions are your responsibility.’”

That elicits a snigger from Luci. Not only could Dean hardly have misinterpreted it, Cas had _not_ threatened to dump his ass if he misstepped, merely stated his loyalty was in direct proportion to Dean’s. Which made Cas’ actions yesterday a perfect response. 

Cas continues, not waiting for an answer. ”He had the audacity to accuse _me_ of being obvious! I wasn’t. I _know_ that to be true. Now I get why he would want to keep us a secret. What I can’t understand is why he feels the need to paw at-at, ..at a bloody cunt, rubbing his dobber up against her fanny. Why does he need to snog her _in front of me_? What’s it going to prove? Tell me! It’s rubbish!” He is fuming. Angry isn’t a strong enough word for it. He flicks the reflected image of his face with the back of his hand and turns around, staring demandingly at Luci.

Lucifer laughs. Cas’ use of language is so mood-bound it’s ridiculous. Just as he does on the ice when he is fired up, he has turned to British slang now. “You’re jea- _lous_ ,” he says in a sing-song voice and with a teasing grin on his face.

Cas gives him a withering look and then sinks down in a squat, resting his mouth against his knees, interlocking his fingers behind his neck and stares broodily into empty air. “Possibly,” he admits. “I don’t know. All these bloody feelings are new to me and they get in the way when I try to think. Every option that seems to be the logical choice of actions are dead ends because my mind screams in protest, I get all knotted up inside and-and-and _afraid_!” Cas squeezes his eyes shut and bends his head in and muffles a frustrated scream between gritted teeth against his thighs.

Luci purses his lips while he thinks. Considering the word choice, maybe it isn’t jealousy as such? “Exactly how uncomfortable are you with him touching somebody else, in general?”

Castiel’s head snaps up. “Oh, that doesn’t bother me much. It’s just sex after all. I’ve told him that if he wants somebody else we can share.” He snorts derisively. “I’d be okay with just watching, or even staying in the next room if he’d make me part of the process, choosing who and how to get them, then describing the experience afterwards. It’d still be sharing.”

Cas gets to his feet and starts pacing back and front. “That’s not the issue here. Well it _is_ too. But the how and why of it. When he pushed me away he was _disgusted_! And it bloody well _hurt_!” He stopped in front of Luci and poked himself hard in the chest with a thumb to accentuate. “I don’t get hurt by rejection Luci, but I did yesterday!” He holds up a finger to make a point. “In fact, I don’t get rejected! But yesterday I was. And it’s not the first time either. You know the day we cleared the air between us and I didn’t answer my phone? He left a message and told me to go to hell. And-and I’m scared Luci, and I’m not used to being scared, not like this.” He has a slightly haunted look in his eyes as he says it. 

He starts pacing back and forth again and Luci sits down on the gym floor, legs outstretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle, following him with his gaze. A smile full of fond amusement plays at his lips. Their relationship had changed a lot after their heart-to-heart. They’d become so much closer. Very much thanks to Castiel. The man had an ability to make decisions and stick to them categorically. So when he decided to trust Luci and accept him fully as a brother, that―to Cas―had entailed full disclosure. He laid himself bare when it came to how he felt about things, unafraid of the power it lent Luci. The trust is absolute. And so is his acceptance of Lucifer. Luci would never dream of betraying that trust. And right now Castiel opens himself up to the fullest. A sight few people will ever get to see.

Cas doesn’t need any prompting to go on, gesturing with his arms as he does. “I’m afraid he’ll leave me. It’s absurd! I told you I was going to make him mine, and I thought I had. Clearly I was wrong. If he _was_ mine, he would not so easily be able to just drop me like that! Like-like I was nothing but trash! I can’t win this thing! What he did yesterday? I’m so mad! To accept that, I need to forsake my self-respect and allow him to just walk all over me like I was his personal doormat. To not accept it I need to leave him, but I can’t, I won’t! _I. Can. Not. Win!_ He is magic and I’m under his spell. He is the perfect storm and I’m smack dab in the middle of its eye. Try to step out and I’ll be thrown high in the air, torn apart and thrown away broken and bleeding. I _can’t_ walk away!”

Lucifer laughs. “So now you’re spouting modified song lyrics about him too?”

Cas stops mid-stride and scrunches up his face in confusion, he tilts his head and turns it towards Luci, fixing him with a puzzled squint. “What song?”

Luci raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You don’t―? Nevermind. Go on,” he says and gestures for Cas to keep talking.

Cas throws him a suspicious look before he starts pacing again.”Yesterday, apart from being hurt, I got so angry. I wanted to bash that bloody dumpster cunt’s face in! I wasn’t her fault but _I don’t care_. What did she have that I don’t? Tell me?! And-and, when we were leaving he stank of her perfume. I figured I could live with that. Just make him take a shower before bed, but-but then I saw it. The worst of it all!” Cas stops in front of Luci, staring furiously at him. “He had let her _**Mark. Him**_. Like-like _this_ ,” he slaps the prominent bite mark bruise on his shoulder, “means _nothing_ to him! I wanted to throttle him!”

Luci had seen the small hickey on Dean’s neck when he patched his hand up and thought nothing of it. Obviously, it's a whole other ball game for Cas. And that explains the mysterious bite mark. They had all seen it in the changing rooms. A few of the guys had asked about it but gotten no answer. “So why didn’t you?” Luci asks but he knows the answer already.

”Because I want him to be mine because he’s captivated _by_ me, not because he’s my captive! I can hardly threaten him with violence to keep him in line, now can I? That would remove his responsibility for his own actions. And would make any loyalty he showed based on the wrong foundation.”

Luci hums. “What about the mark you came home with after Operation Lisa?” Cas never told anyone what happened that day. Although you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out Dean had hit him in an outburst of jealousy. The whole plan was to spark that emotion after all, and Dean had quite severe anger issues.

Cas touches his cheek as if the bruise was still there, his eyes focus somewhere far away, becoming dreamy. He’s probably reminiscing about the event. he sinks down in a squat, a goofy smile spreading on his face. “That’s different…” he says slowly.

”Why is that?” Luci asks. He agrees with Cas, though. He’d shone like a beacon of happiness when he came home that day. Luci couldn’t care less what Dean had actually done to Cas. He could have come home bruised, bloody and battered. As long as he was happy about it, why should Luci judge him for it? It had been a totally different matter if he wasn’t. He’d put two bullets into Gordon Walker without a second thought for messing up Castiel’s knee. 

”Because Dean Winchester’s inner fire unleashed is the most erotic, awe-striking thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to come across in my life! … _Bollocks_! I can’t even think about it without getting―” he breaks off in vexation and adjusts himself in his pants, making Luci laugh again. Cas gets up and starts pacing silently a couple of times until the evidence of his arousal has died down. Then he stops and looks at Luci, looking defeated. “I’m so under his thumb I can’t think straight. Luci what am I going to do?” he says, anger dissipated and now he just looks lost.

Luci holds out his arms. “Aww. Come here little brother,” he says with a smile. Cas gets down on his knees and crawls into the offered hug, accepting the comfort, curling in on himself like a child. Luci doesn’t care one bit that Cas is soaked in sweat, he strokes the wet tangle of curls on his head and sighs. “You're obviously right about being blinded by your emotions in this case. I’ve never heard or seen you misread a situation so gravely. Even with everything you know about Dean you still missed some key points in his behaviour.”

Cas grunts noncommittally. 

”What you have to understand about Dean, is that the emotional turmoil you’re experiencing now, that’s his everyday life. Believe me. I’ve kept tabs on the guy since I met Sam when he was thirteen. The guy is all heart, gut reaction, and instinct. Pair that with a non-existent sense of self-worth and you get what happened yesterday.” Cas uncurls enough to look up at Luci with those big blue eyes, now darker blue instead of shining with fury as before, encouraging him to go on. Of course, Cas already knows this about Dean. But when emotions this strong come into play, common sense takes second place. Luci keeps talking. “Dean reacts to things rather than thinking it through first. He caught himself getting clingy and reacted in panic, simple as that. He’s all fight or flight. He couldn’t flee, so he fought.”

Cas unfurls even further and disentangles himself. He scowls. “Yes but the disgus―”

Luci breaks him off by tutting before he even finishes the sentence. “Castiel. Do you really think that was directed at _you_? Think!” He taps his forehead with a finger. “It was about himself for not daring to act in accordance with his own will. He is absolutely mad about you and it’s starting to show even for people _trying_ not to see it.”

”He doesn’t need to dangle a girl at his side to keep up appearance. It’s not unusual for a person to grow bored of meaningless one night stands. All he needs to do is keep control of himself. He should have just spoken to me about it. Either let me coach him or discussed what goal he wanted to achieve and what means were necessary to do so. ” Cas pouts.

Luci sniggers. “Indeed. But he can’t, little brother. We’ll have to teach him that. Connect that sharp brain of his to his mouth,” there’s humour in his voice but no mockery. “Until then you can do the proper adult thing and sit down to talk this out with him in private. Explain how you feel and suggest another way of acting. It will probably work. For a while. Until the next time he panics.”

”I could do that…” Cas answers grumpily looking at the floor.

Luci smirks. “Or…”

Cas eyes fly up to meets his. “ _Or_...?”

Luci laughs, a series of exhales that shakes his shoulders. Malicious mischief sparkling in his eyes. Dean had made Cas feel like a doormat after all, feel like he had to surrender his own self-respect to accept Dean’s behaviour. Now if Cas had been okay with that it was one thing. Luci’s protective of his loved ones by nature and rearing. To an extent. He respects the individual preferences of those he cares about, even if they aren’t wholesome. But Cas isn’t okay with it. He, just like Luci, has a tremendous sense of self-worth. “Dean is just as possessive as I am, you already know how possessive he is. He got so distracted by seeing you with someone else he could barely function. He practically shoved that girl off of him. Did you not notice that? How upset it made him?” Cas shakes his head and gives Luci his full attention. “It did, little brother. You’re in no risk of losing him. So instead of talking to him you could do exactly what you did yesterday, but keep doing whatever it is you two do together when you’re alone that puts that smile on your face. Play a little mind game with him. He gets what he deserves as long as he deserves it. In the meantime he’ll tie himself more strongly to you than ever before. Trust me on this.”

A slow smile spreads on Castiel's face, his nose scrunches and his eyebrows pull down making him look feral and vindictive. “That sounds like a plan I can get behind.”

* * *

It’s almost 8 AM when Cas makes it to the Winchesters. There’s a note in the kitchen from Sam. “ _Dean, Bobby called. He needed some help. I’ll be back at 13:00. - Sam_ ”. Cas feels a shiteating grin split his face and hurries to Dean’s room. He’s taking off his shirt even before he’s got the bedroom door half open. Dean looks like a mess. Eyes sad and anxious, dark circles under his eyes like he too hasn’t been sleeping tonight. He’s sitting against the headboard playing absently on his guitar and looks up in surprise as Castiel enters. “Cas! I didn’t think―”

Cas talks right over him. “Sam’s not home. You know what that means?” he asks while chucking out of his jeans and toeing off his socks. Dean sets his guitar down on the floor beside him and blinks in confusion at Cas’ heated glee. “It means we can be _loud_ ,” Cas says and pulls the comforter aside, crawling on top of Dean with a wicked grin.

”Cas, about yest- _mbff!_ ” Dean’s presumed apology is muffled by a kiss that Cas doesn’t break until Dean stops trying to say anything and melts into it. His hands come up to card through Cas’ hair when Cas slots himself in between his legs.

”The only thing I want from you right now Dee, are your sounds,” Cas says and drags his lips along the stubble of Dean’s jaw line, distracting him from talking about yesterday.

”Oh yeah? Well then that’s what you gonna get, Angel,” Dean says, anxiety drained from his features, like all it took was their touch to rejuvenate him. Cas feels the same. Luci had been right of course. Cas had just been too blinded by his own emotions to see it. It's strange and new, feeling this much. No wonder people mess up and make mistakes when one’s analytic abilities are blown to shit by emotions. Cas sucks on the small hickey on the base of Dean’s throat, covering it with his own. 

Dean's smiling when Cas’ lips find his again. Kisses turn heated and frantic, hands roaming all over. There’s an edge of desperate need to be as close as possible from both their sides. Cas gets lost in it until the world around him consists of nothing but Dean. His scent, his sounds and blasphemous dirty talk, his taste and feel, their shared breath. They get off by just rubbing themselves against each other. A night of emotional turmoil and insomnia has taken its toll. Afterwards, they’re exhausted. Dean has the presence of mind to set the alarm before they fall asleep, tangled chest to chest holding each other with no space between them.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song reference that Castiel didn't get was Dark Horse by Katy Perry BUT the version "relevant" to this fic is the acapella version by [Peter Hollens and Sam Tsui](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ab1zEegFJWg). It's AWESOME! (I totally ship them. *for fun* ehrm. ^^) Really I saw it and I couldn't decide if it matched best for Luci, Cas, or Dean. It represents the slightly toxic part of their relationships very well I think. Much better than the original. This chapter isn't supposed to be connected to music. The next chapter is. So.. Yeah. Okay. Over and out.


	64. Dark Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides to be brave and goes to see Lucifer. He leaves a note to Dean in the kitchen, telling him he is off to help Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Brief mention of past torture
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  I'll be doing some timeline retcon from now on. When I started writing I hadn't counted on how long time it would span. I wanted to keep the years undefined so anyone could think of it happening now. I've had to change that to minimize confusion and once this fic is done I will go through each chapter and fix it. (unless it's from Cas' totally unreliable pov time wise) But from this point forward any jumps in time will have years attached to them.
> 
> The song in this chapter is ["Dark Horse" by House by the Lake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4df0hDXXIU).
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**FAITH IS HALF THE BATTLE**

* * *

Sam’s heart is beating fast when he knocks on the door of the Garrison. It’s the first time he has sought out Lucifer’s company by himself. The older man has always called the shots but with how things have been lately, Sam feels a lot braver about it. Ever since he came home to find Luci and Dean side by side on the couch, the fear of getting caught in Lucifer’s presence had subsided considerably. Instead, that pull he always feels, grew stronger and more insistent. Sam friggin _needs_ to be with him. He wants that feeling of being complete that he only ever feels with Luci. He keeps chanting “ _fake it until you make it,_ ” over and over in his head to gain courage. Not that long ago Dean would have gone for Lucifer’s throat if he saw them together.

Alfie opens the door. “Hey, Sam! Come on in,” he says, a big smile spreading across his face and stepping out of Sam’s way. “You want something to drink? There are coffee and tea in the common room.” 

”Um... Yeah, hi. No, thank you,” he answers, returning the smile. “I’m here to see Lucifer?” Sam’s a bit baffled about the welcome, to be honest. He’d expected that they’d mention Cas but Alfie doesn’t seem to care who he came to visit, like he’s welcome to just hang out.

”Sure. He came back from the gym not too long ago. He’s in his quarters. You know where it is, right?” Alfie asks. Sam nods. “In that case, you can go straight up.” Alfie smiles. “If you get bored of his broodiness,” he adds as he shuts the door, “feel free to join us in the common room.”

_Broodiness?_

”Um. Yeah, sure,” Sam says. Alfie gives him a cheeky wink and walks away, leaving Sam to hover in the hallway for a moment before he kicks his shoes off and shrugs out of his jacket. He leaves his shoes but carries the jacket in front of him as he climbs the stairs. Outside of Luci’s room he hesitates once again. He can hear music through the door. Nothing he recognizes. A melancholy tune. “ _...Old brother, I’m gonna let you down…_ ”. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. He waits. “ _...Brother it ain’t easy now, standing up to you_...”. The lyrics fade out to silence inside, then the same song begins again. _Huh._

Maybe Lucifer can’t hear him knocking? Sam gathers resolve and tries the door handle. It’s unlocked. Hesitantly he steps inside. Lucifer lies on the couch looking as melancholy as the song playing on repeat. He smiles when he sees Sam, but it’s a sad smile. There’s a tightness around his eyes that drains away as he looks at Sam, though. Sam’s flooded with relief, he hadn’t even realized how anxious he’d been about whether or not his unannounced presence would be welcome. With relief comes bravery. He longs so much to be close. Closer. _I hope he wants that too._ He enters the living room and throws his jacket nonchalantly over an armchair. Lucifer’s steady gaze follows his every move. Sam then goes around the coffee table, puts a knee between Lucifer’s legs, his hands on the sides of his torso, and slowly lowers himself down over the older man with bated breath while looking him in the eyes to gauge his reaction.

Sam may be slimmer, but he’s taller that Lucifer by almost ten centimeters. This position brings their heads to equal heights. Luci’s eyes widen a friction in surprise as the distance between their faces becomes increasingly close. Sam’s heart pounds like a jackhammer. He can feel Lucifer’s breath hot on his face now. Unconsciously Sam licks his lips and Lucifer’s eyes turn guarded, but he makes no move to stop Sam. Luci’s breathing turns shallow and slow, like he is trying not to breathe at all without holding his breath. _What am I doing???_ Sam thinks to himself. Lucifer’s repeated question in his youth rings in his head: ‘ _Is that something you need from me, Sam?_ ’. The air is tense, practically crackling.

As he lowers himself down the last inches he turns his head a fraction, making their cheeks slide softly against each other instead. Luci’s stubble rasps against his smooth cheek. He tucks his head in towards Luci’s neck where he can feel the older man’s pulse beat against his lips and cheek, as fast as―if not faster than―his own. Lucifer’s warm and relaxes underneath him. His faint cologne is sharp, crisp and pleasant. It reminds Sam of cold weather and ice crystals, of the taste of snow on his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut and berates himself. _What am I doing? It’s not like that. It’s **not**!_

_Yes it is,_ a traitorous voice whisper in the back of his mind.

The moment Sam has relaxed down on him, Lucifer moves. His hands come up and start carding through Sam's hair soothingly. One hand soon finds its way down his neck, then lower, over his back, down to the edge of his jeans. With the same boldness Sam showed by laying down on him, Luci tugs the T-shirt out of the jeans. His hand finds its way in under the hem of both the button down and tee, then warm fingers start drawing circular patterns directly on the skin of his lower back. His skin tingles everywhere Luci touches.

They lay still like that for a long time, listening to the song. Sam feels the sadness Luci radiates steal over him at the same time as he finally feels totally at peace. Like he’s inside a bubble and the world does not exist outside of it. It’s just him and Lucifer.

”... _Old brother, I’m gonna let you down. Everybody’s talking ‘bout the things you’ve done, when you ride, when you ride, on your dark horse, through the night… Shots ring out over town, followed by silence as someone hit the ground. Sirens sing the old familiar song,... you heard too many times before. Someone’s on their own. It’s more to you than meets the eye… Deep beneath the surface, covering a lie…._ ”

Sam gets lost listening to the lyrics. He feels Luci’s lips mouth along with the words against his temple. His lips are soft, breath warm. Sam wonders about it. About the song. What’s going through Luci’s head and why _this_ song is so special to him. He thought it was just the general mood in it at first since he himself listens more to melodies than he does lyrics. Dean is the one soaking in lyrics like it’s poetry. (Poetry, on the other hand, his big brother flat out refuses to read.)

”Why are you sad?” Sam asks at last.

”I had a talk with your brother yesterday…”

”Great. What did the dumbass say this time?” Sam grouses. Lucifer shakes with a silent chuckle underneath him, short puffs of breath hitting his ear making hairs stand on end.

”Nothing dumb at all, Sammy. Quite the contrary. Your brother is very perceptive when he doesn’t overthink things.” Sam feels Lucifer smile against his temple and raises his head to look at him. His hooded eyes are earnest and full of warm humour. “I gave Dean some advice and he threw it right back at me. All in all, he didn’t say anything I didn’t already know, but he reminded me of a choice I have to make that I’ve been putting off for a long time.” 

Sam moves his arms upward a bit. His hand connects with a gun hidden under Lucifer’s shirt, hanging in a holster under his arm. It triggers three-year-old memories from this room. “Look, I… Is this about... Michael?” Sam says hesitantly. He has never understood what binds Lucifer to Michael. In this very room, Luci rebelled for Sam. He’d switched sides when Michael was about to cross a line that Sam would not have been able to come back from. Sam had only been able to watch in horror, bound and gagged, the fierce fight that ensued.

* * *

November 20th, 2011.

Sam’s shirtless and bound to a cold bench made of stainless steel. Lucifer’s strong arms hold his shoulders down. Their eyes are locked and Sam draws comfort from the pain and sadness in those ice blues. Michael does something with friggin _needles_ down by his stomach and Sam’s body contorted with the pain that shoots like lightning through his body, his scream muffled by the gag.

“Shhh. It'll be over soon. Just hold on a little while longer,” Lucifer says soothingly.

Michael looks up at Lucifer with a shocked expression. “Why are you treating him like a мали брат?” he says incredulously. Lucifer throws him a blank look but doesn’t answer, then looks down at Sam again. Sam, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on Michael at the moment, confused and scared. Michael swallows. He looks away, quiet for a while. “You know what, Sam,” he says and walks out of Sam’s line of sight. He comes back carrying something. Dread spikes when Sam sees him holding up a scalpel for inspection, not looking at Sam. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, but I’m afraid this is where the story of Sam Winchester has to end,” he says, sounding sad, and lowers the scalpel towards Sam’s stomach.

Lucifer’s head snaps up. Eyes wide and hard. “No! That's enough! He is **mine**!” His hand shoots out and slaps the scalpel out of Michael’s hand.

“Luci, what…?” Michael staggers backwards in surprise. Lucifer rounds the table to stand between Sam and Michael. Michael shakes his head in denial at what his eyes are telling him. “Luci, please tell me this isn’t like with Baby?”

Sam can’t see Lucifer’s expression, but his voice is low and threatening. “You lay one more finger on Sam and I will personally rip your throat out.” Michael’s face on the other hands shows a multitude of emotions, he looks devastated, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Luce? I…” Michael shakes his head in disbelief again, then his face contorts in anger. “First you disobey _Otac_! And now you betray _**me**_?! For this... This insignificant mudmonkey?! You reach far above your station! How can you be so vain to think you have the right to choose your own destiny over the will of the _Porodica_?!” He spits the words out vehemently. Lucifer doesn’t answer, nor does his posture change. Michael holds his arms out to his sides, palms open outward. He gets a desperate edge to his voice. “Luci! You’re going to make _Otac_ desert us! He will punish us!”

“Nobody makes _Otac_ do anything. He created us this way. All of us. With all his rules and manipulations… Mikey, he set us up for this, and for what? I can’t figure out the point. We don’t _have to do this_! Mikey, please. Let’s just walk off the chessboard, together. Take control of our own lives, _together_ ,” Lucifer argues. Sam tugs at his bonds despite knowing it’s futile. He is scared shitless and confused, wondering what the fuck is happening. He just wants to get away.

Michael makes a face. He looks away, face filled with sorrow and profound pain. When he looks back, his expression is one of determined resignation. “I can’t do that. I’m not like you. I’m good, _obedient_. You’re a monster, creating dissent where there should be none. You stand by this and I’ll have to kill you. Those are my orders, Luci.”

Lucifer’s posture changes, he melts into a fighting stance. Sam still can’t see his face but his voice is so cold it sends shivers down Sam’s spine. “In that case, _I’d like to see you try_.”

Michael reaches inside of his shirt and when Sam sees the edge of a gun-handle in his grip, he can’t help squeezing his eyes shut in fear. He doesn’t want to see Lucifer get shot. The two of them are going to die now, Sam just knows, and he is powerless to stop it. He’s going to lose both Lucifer and his own life in one stroke. He wants to scream. He wants Dean to burst in here to save him, knowing full well it won’t happen. _Dean_. Tears sting his eyes and time stand still. He’s never going to see Dean again. The mere thought tears him apart more than anything. Dean who has always been there for him, who has provided for him, sacrificed his own wants and needs for him. The best friggin brother to ever have graced the face of the earth. And Sam’s going to die here. Dean will probably never find out what happened. 

Sam’s so lost in his grief, fear, and sense of powerlessness he isn’t aware of what’s happening. Not until a loud crash makes the table he’s tied to tip over. His eyes fly open as he falls, the ropes prevent him from bracing himself. He lands painfully on his arm, thankfully without breaking it. There’s a gun lying on the floor less than a meter in front of him. Same Taurus model as Dean’s favourite, but this one is gold-plated with a black handle instead of silver and pearl. Even the silencer on it is gold plated. He tries to wiggle but the table threatens to tip over him so he stills, heart hammering in his chest. Somewhere out of view, the sounds of fighting continue and Sam realises time hasn’t stood still at all. There are crashes, grunts, thuds. Somewhere down by his feet, the pair crashes to the ground and Sam cranes his head to look.

Michael and Lucifer are rolling around on the floor, wrestling for the upper hand. They’re blocking more punches than they land, but those which do hit are brutal. They manage to untangle themselves and are quick to get to their feet, not waiting a second before they’re on each other again. The scene that plays out in front of Sam’s eyes wipes all thoughts away. It’s frightening and awe-striking. Sam knew these two men were dangerous already, but to see them up against each other? They’re both fast, relentless, faces locked in expressions of cold, angry determination. They kick, hit, jab, block, evade, in a tempo Sam is hard-pressed to keep up with even watching. No wonder Michael looked amused those times he himself tried to fight back. Sam had been the equivalent of an angry kitten fighting a full-grown tiger in comparison. To Sam it looks like they fight like masters―like Jason Bourne, Jet Li, Jason Statham, you name it. Landed blows result in little more than grunts even when he _hears_ Michael breaking a rib.

Hope flares in Sam’s chest. Lucifer might win this and they’ll survive. The pair is evenly matched. But there’s a _chance_. Both of them are bleeding from the face. Michael sports a split lip and one ear is a bloody mess. Lucifer has a deep gash on his forehead down through one eyebrow, bleeding profusely, the eye starting to swell shut. Lucifer grabs one of the chains hanging from the ceiling and manages to wind it around Michael’s throat, strangling him with it. Michael grabs the chain above his head, heaves himself up and lands a kick square in Lucifer’s chest, sending him flying out of Sam’s view, then frees himself and goes after.

Sam cranes his neck back and forth trying to spot them again but the damned table he’s tied to is in the way. His heart thumps so hard it hurts. The next time they come into view by crashing over the top of the tipped over table Sam’s tied to. Lucifer lands on his back with Michael over him. He hits his head in the crash and it jars him enough to give Michael time to grab the gun on the floor, roll away and go up on his knee in a shooting position.

The combatants still then, both panting in exertion, staring at each other. You could cut the tense moment with a knife. Sam swears he can hear the rapid pulse of both the Angels. Michael’s face morphs into a mask of determination and he begins slowly to squeeze the trigger. Lucifer’s last act of defiance is to turn himself over to his side, thus covering Sam with his own body. A tremor runs through Michael’s hand and he lowers the gun hastily. “ _Fuck you, Luce!_ ” he spits and gets to his feet, stalking out of sight, then a door slam.

Lucifer deflates, falling back to lie on his back, covering his face with his hands, chest heaving. Sam makes noises through his gag vying for attention but is ignored. When Lucifer finally snaps out of it he looks completely heartbroken. He gets up and rights the table Sam is tied to, cuts his hands, feet, and torso loose. He throws Sam’s shirts to him without meeting Sam’s eyes once. His movements are mechanical and numb. Sam tears the gag off himself and Lucifer speaks up. “You need to go now, Sammy,” he says, voice flat, dead.

”Come with me, Lucifer. He could come back. He could―”

Lucifer’s head snaps up. _Rage_ flaring hot and lethal. “ **I SAID GO!** ” he yells. Sam backpedals away from him and hightails it to the door. A last look backwards reveals Lucifer has sunk down on his knees, looking utterly defeated and broken. Sam runs.

* * *

Present day…

Luci hums. “Yes, it is. Partly,” he answers. Sadness reflects in his eyes as if he’s been able to watch Sam’s flashback along with him. Maybe he had one of his own.

“Luce..,” Sam hazards, watching carefully for any dislike against the nickname, finding none. “What did he mean by ‘treating me like a мали брат’?”

Lucifer is silent for a long time. So long that Sam thinks he isn’t going to answer and lays his head back down cheek to cheek with him. But then Lucifer heaves a sigh and speaks up. “It’s how we were trained to withstand pain as kids. The way we grew up, it was like growing up in a religious sect. The man who is head of our organization believes that to dole out pain you have to be able to withstand it. We are not allowed to fear it, nor feel pity. Yet we were conditioned to hold each other’s well being above all else. So when each of us had to go through such thing one of the older boys would help, not by hurting, but by grounding us, soothing us, lending their courage. And afterwards, they’d be the one to put us back together. Tend to our wounds if we had any, comfort us and talk us through it.” 

Luci’s hand leaves Sam’s hair and joins the other one on his back as Luci speaks. Palms flat against his skin they caress him slowly up and down, taking in the contours of his muscles. If he wasn’t so jarred by the confession, he’d be fighting the urge to arch up into the touch. But Luci has never spoken of his past like this. He has stubbornly refused to. _Why now?_ “You’re kidding, right?”

Lucifer’s warm chuckle reverberates through his chest. “I’m not kidding. I belong to an organization called the _Porodica_. It’s the largest crime syndicate in the world and is run by a man called _Otac_. Me, Michael, and many other boys like us, are his―princes―if you will. There’s really no way out of it for us except dying. I’ve been given a respite, but sooner or later _Otac_ is going to grow weary of my rebellion and come to try to drag me back. I’ve committed the greatest of sins for us to do. I’ve signed my own death warrant and Michael is the only one that knows so far.” His hands grip on Sam’s waist and drag upward, bringing with them Sam’s shirts. When they snag between their bodies Luci digs his thumbs into Sam’s ribs demandingly, a tactile command that makes Sam jerk. Sam pushes himself up enough for Luci to pull his shirts all the way over his head, then lowering himself down again, lifting his arms so Luci can remove them fully. He feels dizzy, body thrumming of nervous energy, heart hammering out of control. Both from Luci _finally_ telling him about who he is and the fact that Lucifer is _undressing him_.

Luci drops the shirt on the floor and goes back to stroking Sam’s back up and down slowly, this time unhindered. Sam wills his body not to respond inappropriately. It’s hard, with how goosebumps and tingles trail after each touch. “Why are you telling me this _now_? I’ve been asking you to talk about this since I was fourteen,” he asks instead, almost petulantly, focussing on the confession. His thoughts are swirling with additional questions. And pieces of the puzzle slot into place. Like how Michael always had those thugs at his disposal, the deference they showed him, the expensive guns both Michael and Lucifer owned, the airplane and the attitude both the men had, that anything was theirs for the taking. Endless details just click. He’d figured out they belonged to some kind of gang but this is _huge_! Daunting, to say the least. The small parts he knows may be just scratching the surface. A small part of him claws in panicked fright at the back of his mind. A much, _much_ , bigger part of him makes a mental fist pump, yelling ‘ _YES!_ ’ victoriously. He can’t say why. He doesn’t understand this side of himself.

Lucifer sniggers and grips Sam’s hair with the hand trapped against the backrest, pulling his head backwards at an awkward angle that exposes his throat and forces him to look at Lucifer. His other palm keeps up its slow exploration of Sam’s back, tracing his side and shoulder blade. Sam’s mouth is dry. He tries to swallow. It’s nearly impossible at this angle. His own arms are still, hands resting on the couch underneath Luci’s armpits. Lucifer’s lips curve upward at the corner just a tiny fraction, his eyes are no longer soft, they are predatory as they study his face, taking in every detail. “Because, Sammy- _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester, it’s too late to turn back now,” he says, a hint of dark humour in his voice. “I’ve made my final decision. I have warned you so many times about me. I’ve asked you over and over if this is what you really want, not wanting to force you into anything. But this time _you_ came to me. It makes all the difference.” He bends down Sam’s head a little bit, relieving the strain on neck and throat. Sam swallows again, successfully this time.

Luci brushes his lips lightly against Sam’s temple. A soft caress that reminisces of how he so often has touched the temple with gentle fingertips. “You know I’m dangerous, Sammy,” he continues with a soft voice. “Yet you don’t even know a tenth of what I am capable of, of how much power I wield, how much power I will still have access to, even after I’m officially cut off from the _Porodica_.” He chuckles warmly, hot breath coming in puffs against the skin of Sam’s face. “It should send you fleeing in the opposite direction, but it won’t. I know you, Sam, I’m inside your grapefruit. I can _feel_ your exhilaration. We’re two halves made whole, you and I.” His lips brush over Sam’s eyebrows, up over his forehead. “Before, your ignorance was a layer of protection. That will no longer hold true. Not when it gets known that I’ve chosen to forsake my inheritance for you, my boy king. And that I’ve made Castiel my brother. They will come after us. Maybe not this year, maybe not in a couple of years, but they’ll come. And when they do, I’ll bring them hell. Your brother was right, I had to choose.”

”What is the greatest sin?” Sam asks, trying to process everything. Lucifer is right. He _is_ exhilarated. Boy king? That’s a bit dramatic maybe. There are _so many_ questions. But the thing about two halves made whole expresses exactly how he feels with Lucifer. He shouldn’t. It doesn’t match up with Sam’s set of ideals. It doesn’t matter. The world can go fuck itself if they want to tear them apart. 

”You remember when I told you about my dog? Baby? I loved her. Put her above the _Porodica_ and my браћа. That’s why they killed her. We are not allowed to care so deeply for anyone outside our браћа. Yet here you are, making me a repeat-offender. Then I went and made Cassie my брат. Third time’s a charm,” his voice is once again laced with dark humour. The melancholy song is still playing on repeat in the background but neither of them is listening. Lucifer’s grip on Sam’s hair loosens and he tilts his head down, putting his lips against the hollow of Luci’s throat. Luci sounds so calm but his heart beats furiously. Sam wishes he could read the older man better, so he’d know if it’s due to fear, or their proximity and the not so innocent touches he bestows upon Sam with lips and hands. It’s so hard to ignore his bodily responses to Lucifer. He can feel how hot he’s getting down between his legs where they bracket Lucifer’s high up on one thigh. Luci must feel it too. He always does. That’s usually the point where he stops touching Sam until he’s calmed down. When he shifts to make sure they’re not touching below the waist. 

But not this time. This time soft lips caresses his hairline back and forth, stubble scraping against his forehead. Nails drag friggin deliciously over his neck and up in his hair. The flat of a hand maps out his naked back slowly, with enough pressure to push Sam closer to him. And something just snaps in Sam. Everything Luci is saying right now seems vastly unimportant despite the magnitude of the revelation. All the questions that buzz in Sam’s head can suddenly wait. He said he’d talk, right? Well then Sam can ask questions later. Right now, years of pining come crashing down on Sam. Years of denying what he feels towards Luci is more than platonic. The ever-present troubled question ‘ _Is that something you need from me, Sam?_ ’ has made him hold back. And the answer is ‘No’. He doesn’t need that from Luci. He needs their talks, the comfort, the closeness, and the thrills. He needs the feeling of completeness Luci gives him, the feeling of belonging. But he _wants_ more than that, no matter how hard he tries to deny it and play it off as hormones. He isn’t a teen anymore. It’s not a viable excuse.

Luci has admitted to lack interest in sex. Sam and Dean had drawn the conclusion that Lucifer is Ace. But there is no set limit for everybody for what they are comfortable with, or enjoy. Sam’s hoped Luci would be demi since Luci disclosed the fact. But how could Luci know? If he has only loved a dog and people he views as siblings. That only leaves Sam outside of that category so it’s possible he’s never had the chance to explore where _his_ limits lie. Come to think of it, apart from the reverent touches of his face and hands―it has always been Sam who’s taken the initiative to the next level of physical touch before. Like when he desperately threw himself at Luci in the car outside of the aquarium or when he crawled in between Luci’s legs and leaned his back against his chest when Luci took him flying. Apart from those spur of the moment initiatives Sam had remained passive in fear that Luci would stop if he didn’t. But _Luci_ has always told him to take what he wants. Plus Lucifer is more than capable of stopping him if he wants to.

Sam draws his hands back and wriggles them inside of Luci’s shirts, revelling at the touch of skin. He’s tense, wondering what reaction he’ll get. He strokes up along the waist, the side of the ribcage as far as he can go, until one hand jams under the holstered gun. There he settles and strokes with his thumbs back and forth. The air seems to thicken around them. Luci has picked up on the mood shift, the way he breathes carefully is a testament to that. Heart hammering, he kisses the hollow of Luci’s throat, then when no protests of any kind are voiced, he kisses him again, higher up. Just soft presses with dry lips, an echo of Lucifer’s reverent fingertip touches. He can feel Lucifer’s pulse racing through his lips and his hands on Luci’s ribcage. The higher he gets the more Lucifer stills. Sam wants to fist pump when he notices goosebumps on Luci’s neck. He can’t remember _ever_ being this nervous or getting such sensory overload from so little. He moves painfully slow, making sure Luci has every chance to stop him and to gauge if he likes it or not. 

By the time he reaches Luci’s cheek and brushes his lips above his jawline he gets double signals. Lucifer presses his body backward into the couch as if he is shying away from Sam, yet the press of his hand on Sam’s back feels more like an encouragement to go on, the other hand at his neck is barely touching him and all it would take is for Luci to grab his hair to immobilize his head. But he doesn’t. Sam places a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek and Luci stops breathing. He just stops. Sam feels the warm air of an exhale on his face and after that―nothing. 

He lifts his head a bit so he can look Luci in the eye. They’re fully alert and radiate apprehension. It’s kinda weird really. Lucifer is the most dangerous man Sam knows. He’s been giving Sam relationship and sex advice since Sam was fourteen for crying out loud! But that was all psychological stuff, wasn’t it? The physical aspects of this kind of intimacy may as well be totally foreign to Luci, for all Sam knows. This is like walking on a knife’s edge, like petting a wild grizzly on the nose and hoping it won’t mind. Just the fact that Sam’s erection is digging into his thigh and he isn’t trying to squirm away from it, is an exhilarating first.

Lucifer swallows with an audible click and Sam lowers his head, dragging his lips from Luci’s cheek over his closed lips in a feather-light touch. _He isn’t stopping me_. Sam does it again with more pressure, it’s still just the softest of touches. Luci’s lips are warm, pliant and soft. Much softer than they look. Sam kisses his lower lip and withdraws a fraction, letting the other man process. His insides are going wild with nervous energy and elation. Luci finally draws breath. How long had he been holding it? On an exhale? Sam’s doing everything in slow motion. Careful, as if he’s seducing a skittish victim of sexual assault. Hyper aware of every little thing Lucifer does. Seducing may be the wrong word. He wants to kiss him, to touch him, skin to skin. He doesn’t need it to be base and dirty, but he wants to acknowledge that he wants that too, and for Luci to be okay with him acknowledging that even if nothing ever comes out of it. He’s so tired of denying it to himself, to feel ashamed each time he fails to.

He places another chaste peck on Luci’s lips. Parts his lips a fraction to slot Lucifer’s lower lip in between his and lingers at the next. But this time Luci _reciprocates_. Sam could burst from the Hallelujah-moment he is having. Another press of lips that is met in kind. Sam’s pulse is so loud in his ears he can hardly hear. He raises his head again to look at Lucifer. He’s still fully alert, but some of the apprehension has bled away to be replaced with curiosity. Sam’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. Luci’s eyes track the movement, he blinks, then does the same, looking at Sam with a question in his eyes. The next press of lips remains chaste, but slick and assertive. Lucifer relaxes underneath him and starts stroking his back again.

_Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap!_

They are kissing! Almost eight years of pining, including five years of actual torture and it is finally happening! They’ve crossed a line Sam would never have dared dream they would. It’s huge! _Monumental._ Every cell in Sam’s body is thrumming, vibrating from exaltation. Each kiss is less hesitant, less careful. Lips part a fraction more, gets bolder. Sam knows he’s panting between kisses now, yet Luci cups his cheek gently and. does. not. _stop._ The tip of Sam’s tongue darts out to taste the lips he is kissing. His nerves pull taunt. Wondering if he is pushing his luck. Then he berates himself for overthinking. Luci will stop him if he goes too far.

”Cap! There’s a chap on the phon―Oh! Well _good_ for _you_!”

They spring apart like they’d been zapped with electricity when Balt barges into the room. Sam has his heart in his mouth, blood rushing loudly in his ears by the fright. Balt’s eyes go wide. He throws his hands in the air and turns on his heels. “It can wait,” he says and hurries back out. Sam glances at Lucifer and finds that he’s sitting ramrod straight with his gun pointing at the door where Balt just disappeared. And he’s _blushing_! He looks utterly mortified. 

Lucifer turns his head to meet Sam’s gaze. His lips start tugging in the corners, then he dissolves in giddy laughter. Sam feels a responding laugh bubbling up in him. Soon they’re laughing hard enough to have trouble catching their breath. It takes a moment to collect themselves. Luci puts the gun down on the table and shuts the music off with a remote. He has a silly grin on his face that makes him look years younger. “That was intense,” he says.

”I take it you’re not used to being caught in compromising situations?” Sam grins in response.

”Not of this nature, no. You are?”

Sam makes a sturgeon face. “Teacher caught me with Brady on his knees behind the bleachers, Dean has walked in on me I don’t know how many times with various girls, a couple of parents have done the same. Dude, this was nothing in comparison!”

Luce sniggers. “Stealth isn’t one of your strong sides, now is it?”

”Oh, come on! I can be sneaky when it matters. You know that. ‘Ts just not one of my main concerns. Most embarrassin’ time was when Dean started to cheer me on. He’s an asshole when he’s drunk sometimes.” Sam makes his best Dean-impression. “ _Woohoo, Sammy! That’s my boy!_ ”. Luci laughs again and Sam waves a hand at the gun on the table. “Balt took that surprisingly well.” It’s a statement but he lets his voice lilt upward at the end, making it a question.

Luci shrugs. “We’ve hung out a lot, and he does have a tendency to barge in. So it has happened before.” By now the gloomy melancholy that had lain over the room like a blanket has dissipated, just like the quavering tension from a few moments ago. They’re both left with a light feeling of relief. Like the clean air after a summer rain. “Are you cold?” Luci asks. He looks a little giddy, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Sam shakes his head. If anything, he’s still overheated. But he doesn’t want to put his shirts back on mainly because of how Luci is looking at him. _Admiring_ him. “I’m good…. Look, did I get this right, you and Michael are mobsters?” Luci grins in amusement and nods. “And you’re like, high-ups, trained from childhood, to what?”

”To rule.”

”Huh. But why are you here? In Angel Falls? Playing hockey?”

”We all have legal occupations as cover-ups. _Otac_ demands it. I love to play hockey so that was the occupation I chose. As for why I’m here… You already know about my dog. They killed her in a very cruel manner in front of me as a punishment for getting attached. I could never forgive _Otac_ after that. So I decided to leave. Of course, we’re not allowed to leave completely. But my rebellion is tolerated since it’s believed to be a temporary temper tantrum.” Lucifer holds out his arm and Sam scoots over and leans his back against him, melting into his hold. Luci answers all of his questions while tracing patterns on Sam’s naked chest. The things he tells Sam feel overwhelming and unreal. Had anyone but Luci told him this, he wouldn’t believe them. And everything he tells, sparks new questions. He gets sidetracked a lot, asking about details of how things works. Like how they use internet sites about weather patterns, agriculture, stock markets and such for completely other things. A whole world full of unrelated information for those who know how to read it. Sam is much more interested in learning about how to decipher those than about the more gruesome details about their dealings. He gets excited about the intricate details, about the things that can be sorted and measured, about the logistics, about the many layers of the organisation’s hierarchy. How it’s safeguarded apart from the fear factor. 

He can understand why a брат isn’t allowed to leave. The level of knowledge they have about the organisation can be devastating in the wrong hands. The loyalty they’re brought up to show each other will make betrayal very painful for both parties. And Luci has chosen that path for _him_. For the first time, he can at least partly understand why Luci and Michael were so close and why it is such a big deal for Luci to stand between Michael and Sam. Sam wants to scream in frustration when the clock nears 13:00 and he has to go. When he’s by the door Lucifer stops him, puts a hand behind his neck and tugs him in for a kiss, then backs away with the oddest expression, like he still doesn’t really know what to make of this kissing-business. He laughs at Luci and gets a hard cuff on the arm for it. It doesn’t matter. It may be just chaste kisses but it’s enough to make Sam practically skip his way home on pink clouds. Which mayhap is fucked up, considering he has just found out he most likely only has a few years to live if he’s lucky. But why get hung up on details? Right now, he’s happy.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I think it feels a bit flat but I can't seem to get it right. I would appreciate any comments about what you liked/didn't like in this chapter. It'd help a lot if I'm to rewrite it to make it more, I don't know, alive? Maybe I've just be staring at it too long. Please help me figure that out. :P


	65. A dangerous dork?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days before the derby between the Angels and Free Will Dean's decision to walk from the television interviews to the city turns out to have consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Excessive violence  
> \- Homophobic slurs/language  
> \- Gore  
>  **Notes:**  
>  So this is it guys. I'm in pain. I mean, really. I can't sit, I can't stand and I can't lie down for long periods at a time as my back is killing me and causing horrible head aches to boot. It means I'm writing a couple of sentences at a time instead of 2-3k words at a time. It makes for slow going. Yet I'm making progress. And once again Dean ended up surprising me by not following the appointed behaviour I had devised for him. Which, btw, is what I love about writing. As soon as you start writing the characters take a life of their own and it is awesome. Once again I've divided a chapter in multiple ones so I can publish it faster. So have a few shorter ones. ^^ The upcoming chapters is where Dean decided to disregard my plans for him. *grin* It will be up soon enough.
> 
> I want to thank you for your comments on the last chapter. Some of them actually made me a bit teary eyed. I was doubting myself pretty badly and you lifted me up. Thank you. :')
> 
> Oh and for some of you who only read the Volatile Chemistry and not it's companion pieces it must seem like ages since I updated. I did update the companion piece "The Croatoan" during the time so, yeah. My mind is still firmly in this 'verse. :) Don't worry about me not finishing this fic or anything like that. And my muse is back with me so apart from pain hampering my progress I'm back on track. :D
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE...**

* * *

Early April 2014

Three days before the derby

_Well this shortcut is a bust,_ Dean thinks as he trudges along the chain link fence by the warehouses on the dock. It _would_ have been a good shortcut if this fucking barbed wire topped fence hadn’t been in the way, forcing him to walk along the waterfront _around_ the area instead of through it. The fenced area is a maze. Warehouses built closely together forming narrow, crisscrossing alleys. Without the fence in the way, the walk between the business district of the city where the TV interviews had been, to the nightlife part of the city would have been a moderately short and pleasant walk. Now, needless to say, it isn’t. _I should have taken a cab like Sam._

As gratifying as it is to clear his head after the interviews, the chill of the afternoon air bites with every blast of wind that came from the waterfront. He hadn’t changed before he left the studio. The spring in this part of the country is well underway. The rain had melted away snow and the sun is warming. So he’s still wearing his faded jeans, his grey knitted V-neck, and a matching grey flat cap. It would have been enough if it wasn’t for the fucking wind. He spots a hole someone has cut in the fence just behind a container. It’s right in front of one of those alleys between warehouses and Dean briefly considers squeezing through. But it’s a tight squeeze. He might get dirty and rip his clothes, plus it’s the last warehouse in the row so he discards the idea and keeps walking along the fence. He rounds the fence and suddenly hears something.

”FILTHY FUCKING FAGGOT!”

”You all deserve to die!”

”Gentlemen, please. Can’t we all be grown-ups abou― _ouff!_ ”

Then there’s noise of a scuffle, someone crying out in pain and trying to plead. Dean runs along the fence towards the noise and comes to a halt by the alley crossing the one he bypassed earlier. Almost all the way away by the other alley, two men are brutally beating a third man that looks way too familiar. _Balt?_ “Son of a―” There’s no way Dean can climb the fence and traverse the barbwire unhurt and on time to help Balt. Instead, he legs it back towards the hole by the container, heart beating and adrenaline pumping. _Jesus Christ! I need to get to him on time!_ He trips while diving for the hole behind the container. _Fuck! Smooth, Winchester._ Scrambling to get to his feet he looks into the alley beyond the fence. He can see Balt from here, held up against the wall by one guy and one guy hitting him in the stomach while both of them snarl homophobic slurs. Both the men have their back turned towards Dean which is good. He starts squeezing through the hole, it’s a tight fit. He’s gotten his upper torso through when he notices two figures coming from the opposite end of the alley Balt is in and he freezes. If they’re hostile too he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself while he is crouched down and stuck halfway through a fence.

Then he recognizes them. It’s Lucifer and Cas. Both wearing hard expressions, eyes locked on the two men beating Balt. They exchange a glance and Luci makes a tiny nod. Cas shoots off as if launched by a canon. The men haven’t even noticed they’ve got company before Cas is upon them. He grabs the hair of the closest one and tugs at the same time as he punches in a smooth movement that is powered from his hipbone and up, collecting the momentum of his sprint and tripling the power of the punch, even more so with the slight twisting motion he does yanking the man’s hair. His fist connects with the side of the man’s neck and the sickening crack that follows fucking flatlines Dean’s mind.

All thoughts are hurtling back 20 years in time to the last time he heard that exact noise and he can’t fucking _breathe_. 

 

 

All he’s seeing is the dead form of his mother, lying at the bottom of the stairs with her neck at a funny angle and unseeing eyes. There’s no noise except for his own rapid heartbeat and an increasing need for air. It’s like the sound of his mother’s neck breaking plays on repeat in the silence.

 

 

There’s no telling how long the overpowering flashback lasts. But by the time Dean is back in the present again, he has withdrawn to hide against the side of the container and sucks in deep gulps of air. Wide-eyed he turns his head so he can see into the crossing alleys. By now Lucifer is helping Balt, talking softly to him. Cas is in the middle of the crossing alley facing Dean’s direction. He’s straddling the felled form of the second man, eyes so blue they seem to glow of inner light, his expression the same as he wore in the centerfold poster. Fucking heavenly wrath burning ice cold. He’s punching the face of the man over and over, alternating between left and right fist. Suddenly he halts and looks towards Lucifer. Dean can’t see Luci make any gestures except for meeting Castiel’s gaze, but something must have passed between them because Cas turns back and keeps feeding punches with cold determination.

Dean’s shocked frozen. All he can do is stare at the sight of his boyfriend beating the other man to a pulp. And it isn’t just hitting the man’s face. It’s punching through it for extra power. Experienced fighters know to aim beyond your target and not at the surface of the target. That increases the impact of the punch and that’s exactly what Cas is doing. It should be nauseating to see but Dean is just numb. Luci starts leading Balt back from the direction they came, supporting most of his body weight. “Coin it, Cassie, we’re taking Balt to the hospital,” he says. Cas gets up, takes a coin from his pocket and flips it so it lands on the chest of the man he’s just bashed to a bloody mess, then turns to support Balt on his other side. If any of them have noticed Dean, they don’t show it. Dean remains frozen in place until the sound of their footsteps have long faded.

He has trouble processing what he just saw. Theoretically, he knew Cas was badass. How could he not? With how easily Cas had manhandled him during the Lisa freak-out, and how he had disarmed Sam on the shooting range. But this? This is different. This is…

Dean squeezes through the hole and carefully walks up to the man on the ground. The other man lies crumpled where Dean last saw him―when he was triggered into flashbacks―neck funny angle and eyes staring at nothing. Dead as a doornail. _With one fucking punch._ But this man currently at his feet? Dean squats down slowly by his head. His heart is hammering furiously, his mouth is dry, and he realises his hands are shaking. He balls them into fists, crosses his arms, and puts his fists in his armpits. He stares wide-eyed at the bloody remnants of what once was a face. It’s not recognisable as such anymore. Nose, jaw, teeth, cheekbones, forehead… It’s been shattered. Fucking caved in like you’d see in some sick fucking forensic show on TV that is way too fond of close-ups and want to shock. There’s a bloody bubbling coming with a weak wheeze from the general mouth area. The guy is still breathing. Dean watches the bubbles coming, just numbstruck. And then, then it stops. He sees the man take his last gurgling breath right in front of him and has to fight the urge to throw up. Cas did this. _**Cas** did this!_

It’s not really seeing somebody die or beaten this badly that nauseates him. It’s that it’s Cas doing. _His_ Cas. His dorky, weird, considerate, doting, nerdy Cas that can’t hammer in a nail without hitting his own thumb. His sweet, sexy, wonderful, adorable Angel. Cas did _this._ And this isn’t about being badass. Badassery is skill and courage, which Cas obviously has. But this is something else. Dean has been in many fights. Hard not to, considering his own anger issues that flare up hot and unforgiving all too often. But those fights… you fight until the enemy is subdued. Maybe put in an extra kick for good measure when they’re down, to make sure they stay down and because you’re fucking pissed off. There’s no honour in street fights. But Cas hadn’t been in the grip of rage. He had stopped, looked at Luci, gotten some kind of confirmation and turned back to keep punching. That was not in hot rage, that was in cold blood. Calculated, methodical. Dean honestly doesn’t know how he feels about this. He has no qualms about the motive behind. He too was about to come to Balt’s defence and those homophobic assholes got what was coming to them. To Dean, their fate is justified. He’s always been very protective of people he cares for and the lengths he will go to, to keep them safe… well, let's just say he couldn’t throw the first stone. From his way of thinking he has done something much worse than this nine years ago.

It’s the manner in which Cas had done this, that chills him to the bone. That his mind keeps trying to reject seeing. Castiel had just single-handedly _murdered_ two men and then gotten up with an unaffected expression, like he had just done a task set to him. Lay the table, do the dishes, score a goal, beat a man to pulp, make the bed, mow the lawn. He showed more outward hostility being denied coffee in the morning, for crying out loud. Sure, he had a fighting face on but still…

Dean fights off another wave of nausea and gets to his feet. He stares at the coin on the man’s chest for a while. An ordinary coin except for the “C” carved on it. Makes no sense at all. There are other issues with all this that Dean’s brain can’t seem to decide which to process first. Lucifer’s blatant disregard for the lives of these bastards is not surprising. He expected nothing else from Luci. But the obvious command he had given to Cas? Maybe not so obvious, but still. And then there was the way he himself had triggered into flashbacks yet apparently had kept moving during the process, having no memory doing so. It makes him horribly aware that maybe that was what happened to his dad, over and over. Now Dean had sought shelter during his blackout. But what if he wouldn’t have? He made no conscious choice doing it. He could just as well have charged into the fray, unaware of his own actions. If that was what happened to his dad… Dean doesn’t want to understand dad. It’s hard to hate someone once you understand them.

Dean backs away from the bodies. It won’t do him any good getting caught here with two dead bodies. For a moment he has the irrational wish to salt and burn them, to prevent their ghosts from haunting Cas. But now is not the time. He turns and runs.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated. ^^


	66. Defusing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's mind is a jumble of thoughts after what he saw earlier tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- sex (specific warnings in the end notes)  
> (please, if there's something I didn't tag that you need tagged, tell me!)
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Right. short chapters it is. ^^  
> There's a movie reference in here. Can you spot it and do you know from where it comes? :)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**ON YOUR KNEES!**

* * *

Early April 2014

Three days before the derby

A couple of hours later finds Dean sitting in some classy bar with low, round glass tables and black round leather lounge chairs. Sam currently occupies one of the four chairs and is in the middle of an animated description of something. God knows what. Dean can’t find it in himself to actually listen. He just nods along, shakes his head and smiles where it seems appropriate to do so. His mind is still buzzing with what happened earlier tonight. This is when Luci and Cas suddenly put their drinks down on their table and sit down, Luci next to Sam and Cas next to him. They’ve changed their clothes since Dean last saw them. Luci is playing ‘know your brand’ with a black, full zip _fucking Armani_ hoodie with grey lining, grey shiny tee visible underneath and dark wash ripped jeans which are― _surprise_ ―also Armani. None of which actually _show_ the brand. The look is kinda trashy and relies on the onlooker to be familiar with the latest collection to recognize it and know it costs about a monthly minimum wage. Dean can’t tell if Luci is the biggest douche for wearing it or Dean the biggest douche for recognizing it and wanting it for himself. Cas, on the other hand, has put on the bad boy James Dean clothes that Dean finds so unfairly sexy.

 _Of course_ Cas is drinking something fruity. Timmerman’s Kriek Lambic. Somebody should inform him beer isn’t supposed to taste like cherries. Under normal circumstances ‘somebody’ would be Dean. But right now Dean is busy staring at Cas’ glove-clad hands pouring said _too-fruity-to-be-allowed-to-be-referred-to-as_ -beer in a glass.

Sam kicks him in the shin and Dean jerks upright and realises they’re all staring at him. _Oh. They’re talking to me._ “Um…”

”I asked if your interviews went well?” Luci repeats his question, a concerned little frown on his face. Sam, of course, is bitchfacing him―no news there―and Cas is looking at him with a tiny smile and fondness in his eyes.

”Um. Yeah. Sure. A bit exhausting, though… And some of the questions? ‘What kind of underwear I prefer?’ Come _on_. I mean, whatta fuck?” he answers, getting distasteful snorts all around.

”Yeah. Some questions are just dumb. ‘What does it feel like being so tall?’” Sam counters. And with that, it turns into a competition about who got the most stupid question. Dean zones out again, eyes drawn to Cas hands and the snug black leather gloves covering them. There’s no question about why. His knuckles must be fucking blue and possibly cut up after the beating he doled out earlier. _His_ Cas. Dean tears his eyes away from the gloves and stares at his face instead. Cas is laughing at something Sam is saying. His smile is big and gummy, crinkling his nose adorably. And he is a fucking killer. Dangerous. Like, _really fucking dangerous_. It’s both terrifying, repulsive, and makes him _scorching hot_ at the same time. Christ! Dean is fucked.

Dean can’t tell where the impulse comes from but before he can even consider stopping himself his hand has shot out and slapped Cas. (Thankfully not hard.) Now _that_ , gets everybody’s attention.

”Dean what the _hell_?!” Sam glares at him. Lucifer is in that deceptively casual ready-to-strike mode and Cas simply looks at him curiously, no animosity whatsoever.

Dean blinks stupidly. “I… I have no idea why I did that.” And he doesn’t. He really doesn’t. Cas is fucking lethal. No sane person goes around slapping people that are as dangerous as Cas proved himself to be today. 

”Can I talk to you outside for a second?” Cas asks. Dean swallows with a dry-mouthed click and nods. Cas exchanges another look with Luci that holds a full conversation apparently because Luci relaxes goes from casual-ready-to-fight to casual-relaxed. Cas takes Dean’s hand and Dean meekly lets Cas pull him up from the chair and lead him through the bar, into the kitchen (where Cas ignores some kitchen staff’s protests about them being there), then through the storage area and outside to the delivery docks at the back. There are no people here in the semi-darkness and no one seems to have followed them. Cas lets go of his hand and turns towards him. He tilts his head and squints at Dean in concern. “Are you alright, Dee?”

”I’m fine. Sorry. I just…” Dean rubs his neck and looks down at the ground. He looks up, frowning now. “What’s with the gloves, Cas?” Cas’ eyes widen a fraction and he looks down at his hands. “Some new fashion trend, huh?” Dean pushes. Cas opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but closes it again. It makes Dean feel cheated. Like he’s been lied to. Like Cas has purposefully been hiding this and will continue to do so. Fuck the fact that Dean has never inquired any details about what Cas has done in his past, and fuck the fact that Cas told him during their first ‘date’ at the restaurant that he drifted and ‘indulged in violence’. Dean still feels anger building. They’re supposed to be a team. Cas is _his_ , goddammit! He shouldn’t hesitate to tell Dean stuff like this. Not when fucking Lucifer obviously knows this about Cas. Cas is his!

Dean’s angry because Cas scared him, because Lucifer knows more about Cas than he does, because despite what happened earlier Cas is still the sexiest motherfucker on the planet. He’s angry because since he saw Cas beat that man to death in such a cold-blooded manner, he knows that the sensible thing is to get off this train before it’s too late, there’s something wrong with a person who can do that. He’s angry because since he saw him do it, he has been making up reasons to justify the behaviour. He is angry because Cas is forcing him to justify something that is indefensible. And Dean is _succeeding_ in giving pardonable grounds for it. By now he has a long list of excuses for that kind of behaviour from Cas. Cas doesn’t even have to open his mouth in his own defence. Angry because he has already started to filter away the gruesome details of what he saw, and it turns him on that Cas is dangerous if you don’t take into account the consequences for the victims. He is angry about hiding from the world how he feels about Cas. Angry about Balt being beaten up for having more courage than he does. Dean is not afraid of getting beat up, not afraid to be bullied by homophobic strangers. What he is―is afraid to be rejected by his friends and people he loves, for feeling like he does about Cas. In _theory_ he knows that if they can’t accept him as he is, they aren’t good friends and should be let go. But in reality things aren’t that easy, are they? You want people you love and care for to reciprocate. And if they reject you, it hurts something goddamned awful. Dean had that lesson hammered in by his father. And last but not least he is angry at Cas for flirting with others and letting other people touch him, even if it’s a response to Dean’s own behaviour. Cas is _his_ and Dean wants to take all these feelings out on him _right the fuck now_. One way or another.

Dean grabs a hold of Castiel’s jacket lapels and tugs him close. “You promised you’d let me, Angel. _You promised,_ ” Dean grits out.

Cas is startled by Dean’s anger, clearly not following. “What did I promise, Dean? Anything you require from me, I shall make it my purpose to deliver,” he looks confused while he says it, reverting back to more formal speech, but now he seems to be doing it out of uncertainty. Which only serves to aggravate Dean’s temper. Cas is not supposed to be uncertain about anything. He is supposed to be bossy and assertive.

Dean yanks them around and slams Cas’ back against the brick wall. (It seems to have become a habit between them, this wall slamming business.) Cas' face turns impassive but he doesn’t try to defend himself or fend Dean off. A couple of hours ago he murdered two men _with his bare hands_ and now he just lets Dean do this. _Why?_ Knowing what Dean knows now, it’s no wonder Cas was unafraid in the face of Dean’s unbridled rage in the past. But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t defend himself. It’s giving Dean another kind of crazy rush. Dean tugs him close and slams him back again, eliciting an ‘ _Ouff_ ’. “You’re mine now, Cas. When we were at the restaurant after the ballet, you promised that you’d let me. _Now_ is the time and place, Angel. On your knees,” Dean commands harshly. It’s either this or he'll end up taking a swing to defuse his frustration.

Cas makes a gratified growling noise and drops to his knees without any hesitation, pushing at Dean’s hips to make him back up a step and give Cas room. Once he does, Cas makes quick work out of unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. He takes Dean’s dick out. He isn’t hard yet and the cold makes a shiver run through his body. Then Cas takes him into his hot mouth and the contrast is fucking awesome. Dean leans his hands on the wall behind Cas, looking down at Cas and _fuck_!

Cas gazes up at him with big intense eyes as he works on Dean’s rapidly swelling cock. He sucks and swirls his tongue, bobs his head up and down. His hair falls down over his forehead and his black biker jacket stretches over his shoulders. He’s fucking gorgeous! Right now Dean doesn’t give a single fuck if they get seen. _Hell, let them watch!_ The kitchen staff could come out and form a circle around them for all he cared. This lethal fucking beautiful Angel with his mouth around Dean’s cock is the only important thing right now.

He’s fully hard now and shifts his hands from the wall to Cas’ hair, twisting his fingers into it and tugs experimentally. Cas hums appreciatively, sending vibrations through his cock. “Shit, Angel. That feels awesome!” Holding Cas’ head still by the hair, he starts gyrating his hips slowly. He feels Cas relaxing his throat and thrusts deeper, increasing the pace. “Fuck, _yeah_!” Cas grabs a hold of his hips to stabilize himself once Dean starts fucking his mouth in earnest. He makes needy little noises around Dean’s cock. It’s intoxicating. Cas is a fucking _killer_ and he just _lets_ Dean do this to him. Taking just as much pleasure as Dean by all appearance.

Dean pulls Cas by the hair down over his cock, as far as he can. Cas manages to take all of his length, nose buried in his pubic hair. There, Dean holds him still. He feels Cas trying to swallow around him, sending tingles through his pelvic area and spine. Then the throat constricts around him as Cas’ gag reflex is triggered and Dean lets out a loud moan. Cas doesn’t try to pull away. “Fucking gorgeous like this, Angel.” Another gag-constriction and now the need for air must be pressing. Dean pulls him off and Cas coughs and sucks in a big gulp of air before diving straight back in again, swallowing Dean’s dick like it’s nobody’s business. “Holy fuck, _Ca_ -aas!”

Yet again the gag reflex is triggered and Cas blinks tears out of his eyes while gazing up in fucking worship at Dean. This is one of Dean’s guilt-ridden pleasures. He’s ashamed of finding it so arousing when the tears form. He _knows_ they’re only a byproduct of the gag reflex and not a measurement of whether or not his partner enjoys it or not. But still. He feels guilty about being turned on by his partner gagging and choking on his dick while tears run down their cheeks. The visual of it is just as much of a turn on as the actual physical pleasure. The only thing that could have made this better was if Cas had been wearing mascara or eyeliner. _Next time_ , his traitorous brain supplies. “Shit, Angel, you’re so good at this. Fuck you’re so hot. Dammit, Cas!” The profane praising tumbles unfiltered out of Dean’s mouth.

Yet again he pulls Cas off once he thinks the need to breathe gets too pressing. Cas sputters and takes a couple of desperate breaths while grinning up at Dean like he hung the moon, thick string of saliva hanging between his mouth and Dean’s cock. Cas looks ecstatic for crying out loud. That only serves to bring Dean closer to his orgasm. So when his cock is sheathed in Cas’ mouth the third time and Cas swallows and hums around it, the vibrations, soft wet heat, and pressure is almost too much to hold back. Dean yanks him off. Cas lets out a distressed, petulant whine and glares at him.

”I want to fuck you, Cas.”

Cas scrambles up and undoes his belt before the full sentence is even out of Dean’s mouth. Dean lets out a bemused laughter as Cas fumbles to get his jeans down his thighs while simultaneously spinning around to lean against the wall and presenting his ass. Trying to do all at once makes for uncharacteristically uncoordinated (and comical) movements and Cas huffs in frustration. “Come on then, Dee!”

“You’ve got lube?” 

Cas growls and spits in his hand. He sticks his hand between his legs and slicks his hole up then throws an impatient glare over his shoulder. “There. Push in slowly and we’ll be fine. Now come on, you twat! Don’t dawdle!”

_Holy shit!_ Dean fucking giggles. (Just nerves, okay?) “Eager much, Angel?” Dean smirks as he lines himself up. His stomach is kind of fluttery. This will be his first time going in the back way on _anyone._ He’s a bit afraid he’ll fuck up and hurt Cas, but most of all he’s excited. He rubs his cockhead against Cas’ hole. Cas pushes his ass out more, spreading his legs as far as he can with the jeans around his ankles.

”Can you blame me? I don’t know what sparked the wildfire in you tonight but when you’re like this, you are the pinnacle of creation in my eyes. You are perfect and untamed. You carry all the beauty of a charging predator. I find it so erotic I could reach completion untouched just by pleasing you. To have you fuse us together in this state―” Cas falls silent, leans his head against his forearm on the wall and gasps for air when Dean starts pushing in.

It’s so fucking _tight_. Slowly muscles give way to let Dean sink in, centimeter by centimeter, into warm silky softness and pressure. At last Dean bottoms out. He lays his upper body against Castiel’s back, panting against the bare skin of his neck, just being still for a moment as not to blow his load right then. _So this is what it feels like, huh?_ It feels different from being inside a pussy. Not better or worse. Just different. The shock from earlier this evening is forgotten, the anger is gone. Now Dean just feels inexplicably happy. 

”Bloody hell, Dee. Get to it!” Cas growls impatiently.

Dean can’t hold back the laughter bubbling up inside. “Fuck, you’re bossy,” he says grinning. He kisses Cas’ neck and leans back, gripping his hips for leverage. He starts moving, slowly at first, testing the waters. It doesn’t take him long to work up tempo though, ramming into Cas full force. If he was anywhere near coherent thinking he’d probably be unnerved by the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing between the houses. The door they came from earlier opens and a kitchen worker steps out with an unlit cig in his mouth, sees them, spins on his heel and goes straight back in again. Dean can’t be made to care. (If anything, it just brings a sense of satisfaction. Fuck yeah! Let them see!) He might freak out about it later. Right now his whole world consists of the feeling of fucking Cas ruthlessly against the wall and the low pitched keening sounds and grunts his Angel is making. He is going to come _very fucking soon_. He slows down a bit and grinds his hips instead, reaching around Cas and takes his cock in hand. A few strokes is all it takes. Cas shoots his load against the wall. Dean hates that he can’t see Cas’ O-face from this angle. Cas comes silently, arching his back up against Dean and clenching around him. Dean has to fight not to tip right over. Simultaneous orgasms are overrated. You can’t really appreciate your partner’s orgasm if you’re caught up in your own. But as soon as Cas starts twitching and whimpering from over-sensitivity Dean lets go of Cas' dick and comes inside of him with a punched out moan.

He stays rested over Cas’ back, arms wrapped around his torso and forehead against the leather jacket between his shoulder blades, until their breathing has evened out. Now the chill night air is making itself known over their exposed skin and he feels Cas start to shiver slightly. Not that Cas makes any move to cover himself. Dean kisses his neck and pulls out his softening dick, bends down and pulls up Cas’ pants before tucking himself in and zipping up. Cas turns around while fixing his belt. “Thank you,” he says.

Dean chuckles. Dean’s the one who should be saying ‘thank you’. “Fuck, Cas.” He grabs a hold of Cas jacket and pulls him in for a kiss, then wraps his arms around him, leaning their foreheads together. “I need you, Cas, but _fuck_ , you drive me insane sometimes. I don’t want you touching anybody but me, or kissing anybody else. I _hate_ it. And I swear, next time I see you flirting with someone, I’ll fucking slug the fucker.” Okay. That was not the issue he was planning to address. But it’s no less true.

Cas sighs. “That’s… that’s not something I’d be averse to, I’m afraid. _Au contraire_ , I find the idea of you guarding what’s yours very appealing,” Cas admits ruefully.

_Oh wow. He likes that?_ Dean’s ashamed of his possessive jealousy. Cas is basically encouraging his worst behaviour.

Cas continues before Dean can dwell on it too much. “I can, however, understand your concern, Dean. I get that you’re not ready to go public about us. I don’t mind hiding it. But when you flirt and make out with others to divert attention from us… It makes me feel like I am disposable trash to you.” Dean’s gut wrenches with guilt when Cas says that. He’s been telling himself that Cas doesn’t really care. He certainly hasn’t shown any signs of caring about it. “I’m worth more than that. So to preserve my self-respect it’s either do what you do, or break up with you…”

Just hearing Cas mention breaking up with him makes Dean go cold and grip him tighter, clinging, digging his fingers in. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cas. I’m an idiot and an asshole rolled into one. I _know_ I don’t deserve you. But shit. The thought of losing you… I just can’t, Angel. Don’t leave me.” _Jesus Christ! Here I was thinking it would be for the best **not** to be involved with Cas since obviously, he’s a violent headcase. And now I’m begging him to stay? Good thinking, Winchester!_ It can't be helped. In the end, Dean doesn’t care if Cas proves to be the next Ted Bundy. He would rather help to hide the bodies than let go of him. The important thing is how he treats Sam and Dean. Most of all Sam, really. Cas is Sam’s best friend and god knows that if anything would ever happen, he’d rather have Cas on their side than not at all. Dean suddenly remembers Castiel’s solemn vow to Sam on the shooting range ‘ _I will kill to protect you without hesitation. And when the time comes I will die for you._ ’ The statement is put in a whole new perspective after tonight. Dude had the skill and psyche to back it up, for crying out loud. The fact that the thought of losing Cas fills Dean with gut-heaving nausea has nothing to do with it. Nope. None whatsoever. So what if he’s a little loopy? Nobody is perfect, right? _Right?_

Cas buries his head in the crook of Dean’s neck and inhales. “I do not plan to. But as for kissing others? I’ll keep doing what _you_ do.”

”I’m sorry, Cas. I’ll stop. Promise. I’m yours. You and Sam are the most important people in the world to me. You’re _family_ , okay?” They should have had this talk sooner. Why hadn’t they? Because they’re idiots, that’s why. And Dean is the biggest idiot of them all. He always messes things up. _Always._ He either doesn’t think at all or he over-thinks things. There is no middle ground.

Cas mumbles something into Dean’s neck, what exactly is unclear. Dean doesn’t ask him to repeat himself. They just hold on to each other, soaking up each other's body heat in the increasingly cold night air. They don’t kiss. That’s not the driving need right now. Just the need to be close. Christ! Today Dean has had more mood swings than a teenage girl. (Or―considering how he was during _his_ teenage years―a teenage boy) It’s screwed to hell that everything’s alright again (at least temporary) because he’s being held by this weird, dorky, psycho killer, badass nerd. “I’m sorry I slapped you,” he says, leaning back a bit to dry the tear-streaks from Cas’ face with his thumbs.

Cas chuckles throatily. “I’m not. If this is the outcome,” he says looking Dean in the eye, devilish gleam in his eyes and with a meaningful smirk, gesturing with his head towards the wall he’d just been fucked against. “Then you’re welcome to hit me whenever.” Cas lowers his voice to a low purr. “At least, _you can try…_ ”

Dean―because he’s a dweeb, apparently―chortles. “Yeah whatever, Clouseau.”

Cas laughs. “ _Ooo_. Good one, Cato,” he says with a wink. “Now, come on. Let's get back to the others.”

Dean grins and follows him back inside. When they walk through the kitchen Dean meets the eyes of one of the workers who instantly turns an impossible shade of crimson (that Dean is pretty sure he mirrors, to be honest) and looks away. Cas―the fucker―just gives the guy an unabashed _s’up_ -nod and a wink like the guy hadn’t just seen him get pounded against a brick wall.

 

_Jesus Christ, we were seen! What the hell was I thinking?_

 

Oh, but Dean is fucked up, because at the same time as the embarrassment and dread bubbles up in him at the thought of the guy seeing them when he came out to smoke, his dick twitches in excitement for the _same fucking reason_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Deep throating  
> \- Gagging  
> \- Top Dean/Bottom Cas  
> \- implied Exhibitionism  
>   
> As usual, comments is what I live for. :)


	67. Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is gathering courage. Luci and Cas are little shits. Sam too. And Dean. They're all little shits. That turns out to be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No warnings for this chapter.**
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  This is the chapter when Dean disregarded my plans for him and just acted according to his own mind. Sadly, that killed a rather funny scene I had been looking forward to writing. But like I said earlier, the moment I start writing the characters evolve their own ways and over and over they surprise me by not acting like I thought they would. It's kind of strange really. Considering it comes from my head, but still _not_. I can't explain. I know I'm not the only writer who experiences this. :)
> 
> FYI. Luci says "both genders" in this chapter. There are more gender-identities than just two. But Luci is not me so how he expresses himself stands for him. :)
> 
> Oh and for those who didn't pick up on the Clouseau thing. It's from the Pink Panther movies where Clouseau's manservant Cato has been ordered to attack him when he'll least expect it so that he'll keep his reflexes and combat skills sharp.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THE GREAT WIDE OPEN**

* * *

Early April 2014

Three days before the derby

Not until they sit down does Dean remember their slightly dishevelled state. Something Sam of course, _of course,_ takes note of. "Did you fight?" he asks.

They answer at the same time. 

"No," says Dean. 

"Yes," says Cas. 

That causes the two of them to look at each other frowning, then look back at Sam. (All while Luci seems to struggle to hold back laughter, the bastard.) Dean corrects his answer to "Yes" at the same time as Cas says "No". Their heads whip around to stare at each other again while Luci loses his struggle and bursts out laughing. Sam looks at them with a bemused frown. "Wait. Did you guys… did you...did..." he says slowly. 

"We had a disagreement and we worked it out," Cas says neutrally and takes a drink of his cherry beer.

Lucifer slaps a hand over his mouth and tries to stop laughing, only succeeding to suppress the sound of it, shoulders still shaking with his mirth. Sam looks at Luci, then at Cas and Dean. He has a weird fucking expression. Something between disbelief, incredulity, and hope. Dean’s heart is hammering so hard in his chest. He _wants_ to let Sam know. Well. Not _specifically_ about him banging Cas against a wall just now. You know. That would be awkward. But keeping it secret from Sam is weighing on him heavily. 

Cas scowls at Luci. ”That’s it. No more liquor for you," he says and swipes at Lucifer’s face. Lucifer ducks under Castiel’s hand, quickly leaning over the table, captures Cas in a headlock, and proceeds to give him a noogie. Cas squeals in protest and feebly tries to fight him off, distracting Sam to laugh.

Dean’s insides twist with nerves about how Sam will react. Lucifer fucking knows already for crying out loud. Why are words that actually mean something so hard to speak?

Cas manages to free himself, pinning Luci with a disgruntled stare as the older man leans back sniggering. Cas hair is a mess, standing out in all angles. It’s cute. No, really. It _is._ Mouth dry from nerves and heart in his throat Dean looks around to see if there’s anybody else he knows in this place, then he leans towards Cas and puts his arm over his shoulder, angling his chest towards Cas. “Aww… Come here, baby, let me fix that,” he says with a playful smirk, trying to hide how he really feels inside. He can’t do anything about the flush warming his neck and his cheeks. Cas turns towards him, looking slightly surprised and confused for a beat, then his face goes almost neutral. _Almost_. He has these myriad of micro expressions flitting over his face that Dean didn’t use to see before. Now he’s gotten to know Cas so well that he sees them. He can’t really read them, though. Right now he’s envious of Lucifer and Cas who have perfected reading each other’s ‘blank’ faces. He doesn’t let that deter him. He draws courage from the anger he feels about seeing Balt take a beating for this, as he reaches out with the arm not currently around Cas’ shoulders and combs through Cas’ hair with his fingers, styling it into a semblance of his former hairdo. Cas eyes go soft and warm from Dean’s gentle grooming. There’s the barest hint of a smile at his lips. Dean feels his own smirk melt into a soft smile. “There you go, Angel. As good as new,” he says, and to drive the point he is trying to make―for Sam’s benefit―home, lets the tips of his fingers graze gently along Cas’ jawline as he withdraws his hand. 

There’s nothing subtle about it. And unlike what he’s been doing the last month with all the girls, this isn’t acting. This is what he wants to do. To touch and look at Cas whenever he wants. Like it’s natural. He is scared shitless of what Sam’s going to say. Of what his friends are going to say. There’s no denying that. He is pointedly not looking at Sam and he _knows_ his cheeks are aflame right now. He can see Luci in his peripheral vision watching him with a calculation expression and sipping his glass of fucking red wine. 

”Thank you, Dee,” Cas says quietly and leans their foreheads together with a slight hesitation.

Dean’s just about to look up to see what Sam’s reaction is when somebody walks by their table muttering “ _Fucking faggots._ ”

Cas ignores it. Dean, however, is instantly _pissed off._ He puffs up, keeping his arm around Cas and pins the offender down with an unwavering stare. “Hey, _buddy_. Wanna run that one by me again?” he says with a tone of voice that leaves no doubt about what Dean has in mind if he does.

The guy is startled by being challenged and turns to face them. Sam has sat up straight, puffed himself up just like Dean and is giving the guy a killer bitchface that tells Dean his little brother is more than ready to skip the peaceful solution argument and go straight for the charge. It’s rare, but not unheard of. Cas is leaning against Dean’s arm with a content little smile. Lucifer looks bored, and doesn’t pay them any attention. Or one would think so, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s cleaning his nails with his pocket knife that he didn’t hold in his hand a second ago.

To give the guy credit, he isn’t intimidated enough not to back off at once. He makes a disgusted face at Dean and Cas. “It ain’t natural. The bible says―” he starts but Lucifer cuts him off without looking up.

” _’Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait until the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of the heart. At that time each will receive their praise from God.’_ First Corinthians 4:5. If that was what you were going to say,” Luci drones in a disinterested tone.

”I think he was going to refer to Matthew 7:1 and 7:2,” Cas cuts in with an amused lilt to his voice. “ _’Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you.’_ ” Cas isn’t looking at the guy who had sneered at them, he’s looking at Luci.

Luci looks up at Cas. “Luke 6:37?” he suggests.

”John 8:7,” Cas counters.

Lucifer hums thoughtfully. “James 4:12.”

”Romans 14:10.”

The guy has been looking more uncertain by the second, gaze jumping back and forth between Cas and Luci. Dean has no idea if it’s because he actually knows what they’re talking about, (Dean certainly doesn’t) or because he realises he is in over his head, trying to quote the bible without knowing what it actually says. He straightens a bit and sets his face in determination. “It doesn’t matter. It’s disgusting. You should not be allowed to flaunt such filthy behaviour in public.”

Before anybody has a chance to come with a counter Sam rises out of his seat, anger barely contained. Sam, pissed off, is a thing of beauty. The guy’s reaction to it? Even more beautiful. He is not a small guy per se. Just a centimeter or two shorter than Cas. But when Sam unfolds and shoots upward, and upward, _and upward_ , the guy’s eyes go round, his jaw fall open and he turns _white_. The last two years Sam has been putting on weight, no longer growing up, but going from gangly wiry to slim and buff, chest and shoulders broadening and filling out. His fists are clenched at his sides, nostrils flaring, and veins popping on his forehead. There’s a moment of absolute stillness before Cas looks at the guy and cheerily says “In other words, _run_.” And the guy does, heading for the wardrobe as fast as his legs can carry him, followed by Luci’s outright laughter and Castiel’s snigger.

Cas looks appreciatively at Sam, who’s tracking the retreating asshole with his gaze. Then Cas turns his head towards Luci while lacing a gloved hand with Dean’s fingers on his shoulder. “I must say, sometimes the family resemblance is quite uncanny wouldn’t you agree, Luci?”

Luci hums in agreement, lips quirked in a little smirk. The knife he held in his hand a moment ago, is nowhere to be seen. “Indeed. They do have a slight anger management problem when it comes to defending each other.”

”I like it.”

”I imagine you would,” Luci says, voice heavy with amusement. “I’m not quite so taken with it. They aren’t always on point with what, or _whom_ is the actual threat.” He smacks his lips in displeasure. “It can be quite a nuisance.”

”Hey, asshat! We’re _right here_ ,” Dean says in annoyance and glowers at Lucifer.

At the same time, Sam falls back into his seat with a heavy thud and scowls at Luci and Cas. “Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?”

”Hilarious,” Cas deadpans with a dry tone.

”Look, it’s not. Okay? That kind of crap can escalate and turn bad.” He waves his hand in an irritated gesture towards Dean and Cas. “Maybe you should tone that down a bit.”

Dean’s heart sinks to his stomach. _No, no, no, Sammy. Please. Not you. I need you to stand with me on this one. This is important to me. Not you. I can’t take it from you. Anyone else, but not you._ His knee-jerk reaction is to withdraw his arm from around Cas but Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, holding it in place. Dean looks at Sam with hard eyes, hiding what he really feels. His voice is cold and challenging when he speaks. “Tone down what, exactly?”

Sam’s face falls. “No, sorry. Christ! I didn’t mean it like that.” He looks at Dean with concerned puppy eyes. “So get this. This is a very conservative city. The risks that are involved by appearing to be―”

Luci cuts him off. “I’m with your brother on this one. He was fixing Castiel’s hair and is showing simple affection that could constitute as anything. You don’t think we’re aware of the risks? I have several team members under my protection who, with different level of openness, favours intimacy from their own or both genders. Earlier tonight Balt was roughened up because of that very reason. I can’t keep them safe if they don’t follow orders, which, sad to say, Balt did not.”

Both Sam and Dean interrupt Luci just a few beats apart.

”Oh my god. What happened?” Sam asks worriedly.

”How badly hurt is he?” Dean asks, glad to finally be able to ask without giving himself away as a witness.

Cas and Lucifer share one of their thought-swapping looks that is really starting to get on Dean’s nerves. Then Luci looks at him. “Who told you?”

_Fuck._ Yeah. Okay. Maybe his facial expression and voice hadn’t been shocked enough to get this news for the first time. Maybe he did sound a tad bit too much like he wanted an update on a matter he was previously informed of. “You just did, jackass. Now, is he alright or not?”

Cas is the one to answer while Luci just stares contemplatively at Dean. ”He’s got a concussion so he’s not allowed to play for a couple of weeks, missing the end of the season. Apart from that? Nothing broken, just bruised pretty badly. Don’t feel sorry for him, though. When we left the hospital he had already charmed two nurses into doting on him with special attention.”

”So what happened?” Sam asks again.

”He had a date with some pretty little twink that showed up early. He was told to wait for us but the eager bastard got impatient and took off. Apparently, the two of them got cornered down by the docks, his date took off but Balt wasn’t fast enough. And he’s not a fighter if you don’t count his spirit. It’s not the first time this has happened. His refusal to make excuses for himself is something I respect and admire, but it does land him in trouble on occasion,” Lucifer answers.

”But then, wouldn’t it be better to just lay low when we’re in high-risk places such as this?” Sam asks.

Luci shakes his head. “Sammy, haven’t I always told you to take what you want because you deserve it?” Dean frowns at that (that somehow implied too much familiarity for Dean’s comfort) but Luci and Sam pay him no heed. 

”Yes, but―”

Once again Luci cuts him off. “I see that it's not reason enough for you, so, think of it this way. You were what? Fourteen when you first kissed Brady. You did it openly at a party where no one challenged you. Had you lived in this city at the time you might have ended up dead for it.” Dean’s bristling on the inside about Lucifer showing such intimate knowledge of Sam’s past. “In this city, right now, there will be other fourteen year old boys finding themselves drawn to other boys. If we, who are well equipped to defend ourselves,” as he says that he takes Sam’s hand and briefly presses it to the side of his ribcage. Sam looks surprised when he withdraws his hand. It takes Dean an extra beat to realise Luci most likely let Sam feel that he’s carrying. Of course he’s carrying. Fucking dangerous creep like he is. (Dean wishes he was too.) “...and unafraid of the consequences to our reputation and living situations, decide to hide. Then we’re doing them no favour. They need to see that there’s nothing wrong with them. They need role models. For people like us to be brave and visible.”

”Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.” Sam smiles and pushes his chair as close to Luci’s as Castiel’s and Dean’s are, leaning slightly towards Luci. Luci looks way too self-satisfied as he puts an arm around Sam loosely and starts playing with Sam’s hair where it brushes his shoulder, looking directly at Dean as he does.

Dean’s nostrils flare. He can barely keep himself from throwing himself over the table to wrap his hands around Luci’s throat. The fucking disgusting creep should keep his filthy hands off Sam! Cas buries his head in the nape of Dean’s neck and nuzzles him with a small smile and Sam fucking beams at Dean, eyes sparkling, and then he winks conspiratorially. _Fuck!_ “That’s a mighty noble motive, you’ve got there, Luci,” he says sarcastically and gives Luci a smile that is more of a snarl.

”Not at all, _Deanie_. That’s Sam’s motive,” Luci answers amiably but with mocking challenge in his eyes. “Mine is not quite as... pure.”

Dean can’t act on his anger right now and Luci damned well knows it. And he knows Dean knows it too. Dean just wants to erase that self-satisfied smirk from Luci’s face. Preferably with acid.

Sam’s hand suddenly lands high up on Luci’s thigh, close by the inseam of his jeans. That would have been even more infuriating if it wasn’t for Luci’s reaction. To begin with he isn’t expecting it, that much is clear. His eyes widen a fraction (compared to other people Dean knows that is the equivalent of eyes bugging) and jump down to look at the offending hand with a slightly stressed expression like _there’s-a-snake-in-my-lap-what-do-I-do-and-is-it-poisonous_? It’s fucking comedy gold. A bit confusing too as Luci is always getting his greasy hands on Sammy, so this reaction is really weird.

Cas shoulders are shaking. A quick glance at him confirms Cas’ gaze is set on Luci and he’s laughing silently. Dean gives Luci a shiteating grin as Sam’s hand travels upward and inward, dangerously close to Luci’s crotch. Luci visibly recoils, sucking in his stomach (like that would help) and withdraws his arm from around Sam. “Sammy, you’re being inappropriate,” Luci warns.

Dean puts his hand on Cas’ thigh. “Do you think this is inappropriate, sweetheart?” he asks Cas.

”Oh no. I think it’s very appropriate, dear. Please, be my guest and be appropriate a bit higher up,” Cas answers, amusement clear in his voice.

Lucifer throws them a dark look that makes both Dean and Cas snigger. Then he looks angrily at Sam. “ _Sam._ ” The warning is sharp this time and Sam withdraws his hand looking like a kicked puppy.

”But, Lucifer, you said―”

”Oh for heaven’s sake!” Lucifer scowls and gets out of his chair, walking away. All three of them burst out laughing at him.

Dean reaches for his beer with the hand he had put on Cas thigh and takes a swig. Grinning, he looks at Sam. “Dude. What the hell?”

”What? He was being a jerk towards you,” he grins back.

”That was beautiful,” Cas says. “I wish I had it on video. I’d love to show the rest of the team.”

”He could have fucking stabbed you,” Dean says to Sam, but with his grin still in place.

”Luci would never hurt Sam,” Cas reassures him. _Yeah, right._

”I don’t think he would stab me, at least. Possibly crushed my hand, though. I _was_ making him uncomfortable on purpose,” Sam concedes with a big dimpled smile. Cas lets go of Dean’s hand and bends forward to grab what’s left of his cherry beer. Then he settles right back under Dean’s arm. Correction. _Burrows back_. He takes a mouthful of his drink, rests his glass in his lap and leans his head against Dean’s shoulder while making a contented sound. Dean strokes Cas hair out of the way with and gives him a little kiss on the forehead with nervous butterflies in his stomach. Sam’s looking back and forth between them with a big dopey smile.

”You’ve got something to say, Sammy?” Dean challenges.

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’m just happy, ‘ts all. Look. I better go find Lucifer and apologise for what I did. Be right back.” Sam leaves with a smile still playing on his lips.

As soon as he’s out of earshot Cas speaks up. “So are we not hiding it anymore?”

”One step at a time, Angel. Okay? It’s driving me insane hiding it from Sam. I gotta know he’s okay with this. With us.”

”Obviously he’s okay with it, or he wouldn’t have been grinning like a moron,” Cas says dryly. “How about the rest of your team? How about the public? We could get caught on anyone’s camera like this,” he inquires.

”I would be lying if I said that doesn’t freak me out. But you’re okay with that, right?”

Cas chuckles. “Dean. If it was up to me, there’d be a billboard in every city announcing that you’re off the market and belong exclusively to me. I’d make it the top headline in every newspaper and news broadcast worldwide.”

”Whoa. Easy there, cowboy,” Dean says, feeling a silly smile pull at his lips and his chest expanding in joy. “I’m not quite there yet.”

Cas sniggers, drinks the last of his beer and puts the glass on the table. Then he turns so he’s fully facing Dean, locking his blue earnest eyes with Dean’s. Right now they’re dark blue. Like the ocean after a storm. Another colour to add to his ever-changing palette of hues that Cas’ eyes could take. “Dean. I’m not ashamed of my feelings for you, nor of you. I’m completely devoted. I’m in love with you, Dean. I want you to understand that the _only_ reason I hide my affection is because you want me to.”

_Well fuck. Dude certainly hasn’t got any problem expressing himself._ Dean doesn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. He’s afraid all that would come out is a happy little whimper. His smile feels like it’s going to split his face in half. _Fucking chick flick moments._ Instead he cups Cas’ cheek with his hand and leans in for a kiss. Cas’ lips are so soft against his and he is fucking soaring. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth a bit, lets his tongue slip out to ask for, and be granted entrance. The kiss is soft, sweet, perfect.

”Congratulations. When’s the wedding?” Luci’s teasing voice comes to ruin it.

Dean opens his eyes to see Luci put down a tray of shot glasses on the table. “Fuck you, asshole.”

”Hey. I got to know. I need to check my calendar. I’m going to be the best man after all,” Luci smirks at him and casually drapes himself back in his chair.

”Bullshit. _I’m_ going to be the best man. You’re going to be the maid of honour,” Sam says, coming from behind and putting another tray of shots down and winking at Cas and Dean with a conspiratorial grin before sitting down. Dean can feel that he’s blushing furiously, but he still gives Cas one last kiss before he leans back in his lounge chair with a lopsided smirk. Sam _is_ okay with this.

Luci frowns thoughtfully, then makes a sturgeon face and shrugs. “Possibly.” He leans forward and starts arranging the shots in lines of five in front of each of them. Looking at Cas his demeanor turns teasing. “Sounds about right, doesn’t it? _Princess._ ”

Cas sputters. “Oh lord. I should never have told you!”

Luci tuts. “To be fair, Goldilocks, if you hadn’t I most likely would have shot you,” he says and sniggers.

”That might have been better,” Cas grouses and Luci laughs at him.

Sam looks between the two of them with a bemused smile. “I think we’re missing out on something.”

”It’s nothing. I used to have long hair that curled and was bleached blonde by the sun. During the time my favoured headwear was a tiara. There. End of story.”

Luci cackles and Sam grins. “I get the feeling it’s more to the story than that,” Dean says. He can’t even imagine Cas with long hair. The tiara? Yes.

”Yes, well, it’s not,” Cas says in vexation. “Besides, no matter who is the best man or the maid of honour it’ll mean they’ll have to dance together and that is something I’d like to see.” 

Luci gives Cas a dark look. “What? Lucille can’t dance worth a shit either?” Dean asks, smiling. 

”I don’t know,” Cas admits. “I’ve never seen him dance.”

”I can dance just fine. I just don’t like to,” Luci answers haughtily. “Besides, you’d have bigger problems, Cassie. Like who’s going to carry your trail?”

”Oh my god! This discussion is moot. It’s not like we’re going to get married anyway,” Dean protests. Well. They _could_. He hadn’t thought of that. It’s just a bit premature, isn’t it? One fucking step at a time, dammit!

Sam cackles and adds “ _Yet._ ”

”That’s alright. As long as you name your firstborn Lucifer,” Luci says to Dean and raises a meaningful eyebrow.

”Screw you, Morningstar.”

”What if it’s a girl?” Sam asks with a grin. He is playing with the rabbit's foot on his keyring absentmindedly. Something he’s been doing more and more lately.

”Still Lucifer,” Luci says matter of factly and raises one of the shot glasses, implicating they should drink.

”Nu-huh! They should name it Sam…” The banter goes on. Dean pretends to be annoyed by it but frankly, he is glad. This kind of teasing is something Sam has put Dean through before with some of his previous girlfriends. It’s an easy-going acceptance that relieves Dean to no end. He isn’t even bothered when Lucifer puts his arm around Sam again later on.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. I need to tell you something awesome. So I'm in pain right? And that sucks. I love to write and draw/paint and sometimes I get, well, the best way to explain it is, sometimes I get high when I create. Not from drugs but from sheer joy of creating. And yesterday when I finally was able to publish two chapters it was obvious how much contentment is brought by hitting "publish" on a new chapter. The body produces endorphins. I know I usually feel good when I publish but because I'm in pain it became more obvious than ever that "feeling good" was a physical thing and not just in my mind, because as soon as I had published the pain was reduced. :D Isn't that awesome? I think it is. Your comments to the new chapters made me feel even better. Because of that I managed to sit still longer and could give you this chapter faster. ;) Thank you. Sadly it didn't _cure_ the pain, only lessened it. But I'm not complaining. ^^
> 
> I'll try to catch up on answering all your comments but right now I'm prioritising writing while I can sit still. :) Just so you know.


	68. Winchester Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are still out partying and being silly. :) Good times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter.**  
>  This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Kind of a laid back chapter. The boys are still not acting according to what I thought they would. I blame it on Sam's rabbit foot. Alcohol is flowing so be prepared for some drunk speak from the boys. And I had ONE DRINK while writing this and got drunk on it. O.O' One would think I had more tolerance than that. Oh, well.  
> 

* * *

**LUCIFER THE FAIR**

* * *

Three days before the derby

He sees Sam coming out of the corner of his eye, so he doesn’t react when Sam’s hands grip the bar counter on either side of him, boxing him in but leaving a lot of space between their bodies. He downs his shot, outwardly unperturbed by the intrusion. As much as he wants Sam near, he does not like the dominance of the gesture.

”Look. I’m sorry, okay?” Sam says at his back.

Luci snorts. “Hardly.”

”Yeah. Okay. I’m not. But you were being a dick to Dean for no reason and I’ve been trying to get those two together for ages and I don’t want you messing that up.”

”Have you now?” Luci says dryly. His voice does not convey how amusing he finds that statement to be. “As I recall, you were the one who asked them to tone it down.”

”I’m just worried about them. I didn’t mean that they shouldn’t, you know, be together.”

”Yet Dean took it that way. Did you not see his face?” Luci concludes and flags the bartender down for more shots. Dean looked as if Sam had sucker punched him before he schooled his face into hard-edged determination. One thing could be said about the older Winchester and that was that once he decided to commit to something, he went all in.

”Yeah, I got that. That was a mistake.”

Luci snorts contemptuously once again. “You could say that.”

”I still think it is unwise to flaunt it in this city.”

Luci spins around and faces Sam, expression hard and unforgiving. “Tonight somebody I value was sent to the hospital for being free-spirited. The retribution we gave the perpetrators was unsatisfactory. I say, let's dangle our brothers as bait to flush out the rest of the scum that would dare harm _my_ people. Neither Dean nor Castiel are frail little flowers. Challenging them in this matter is the equivalent of stepping on a landmine and I sincerely hope that any homophobic shitheads who feel violence is the righteous route to impose their views on the matter, step on it.” Sam’s taken aback by the coldness of his speech. Lucifer grunts, reaches behind him to take another shot and goes right on talking. “Don’t think I am some kind of valiant gay rights champion. I couldn’t give a shit about political agenda. My only interest is keeping those who belong to me, safe. And if they are compromised, _vindication._ I don’t personally like everybody on my team. But they’re _mine_ , and therefore should be unmolested. Balt on the other hand, I do actually care for, for other reasons than his entertainment value. He’s loyal and hardworking, and despite how his mouth is constantly running, he’s surprisingly good at keeping secrets.” The frivolous Englishman had proven that over and over. Balt doesn’t know Luci belongs to the _Porodica_ , but the things he’d seen Luci do over the years could have been a slight problem if Balt didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. 

”Oh. Um… We could try to find them if you like?” Sam hazards hesitantly.

Luci purses his lips, tilts his head and regards Sam thoughtfully for a while, pleasantly surprised. Then he reaches out a hand and gently pushes some of Sam’s hair behind his ear. His voice is much gentler when he speaks. “That’s a very thoughtful offer coming from you, Sammy. Especially since it doesn’t correspond with your idealistic nature. But, no. They were expediently dealt with on the spot. It’s the complete annihilation of their family tree I’m lusting for, and I suspect that wouldn’t sit well with you, neither with Balt.”

Sam utters a little disbelieving laugh. “No. That wouldn’t be fair.”

”If you honestly think ‘fair’ is a good word to describe my personality, you’re in for a surprise,” Luci smirks and tugs lightly on Sam’s hair. “Now, if you’re really that worried for our brothers’ safety, we can take them to the club that we were originally planning to go to with Balt,” he says, changing the subject and then, with an annoyed scowl shoves at Sam’s arms so their grip on the counter is lost and he’s no longer boxed in. Satisfied with having freed himself from Sam’s show of proprietary right to contain him at will, he settles back, leaning against the counter. When Sam doesn’t follow him closer he frowns in displeasure, hooks a finger in Sam’s jeans and tugs him in. 

Sam, instead of answering, has been following his antics with a bemused smile twitching on his lips. “Oh my god, Luci. You’re drunk,” he says with fondness and lifts his hand to stroke Luci’s cheek, just to get the hand swatted away. Sam chuckles. “So what club is it?” he asks. Lucifer tells him and Sam grins. “That’s perfect, Lucifer. I didn’t know there was that kind of clubs in cities as conservative as this.”

Luci scoffs. “Of course there are. Three big ones that I’m aware of. But we’re not going to any of the extreme ones. So are you going to help me carry these shots to the table, or not?”

* * *

**THIS HAS GOTTA BE THE GOOD LIFE**

* * *

_How is this my life?_ Dean wonders as he makes his way back from the toilet in the new place they went to. It’s huge. Three stories. The top floor is a bar. It’s kinda laid back, muted light, couches and loveseats, decent music playing at a level that doesn’t hamper conversation. The ground floor is a dance floor, very much like the place Cas took them on their night out once. People dancing to an incessant base, grinding against each other. Of course complete with a couple of cages on pedestals with half-naked dancers in them. The basement floor… well. Dean hadn’t been down there yet. But Cas said that if he liked people watching, that’s the place to be. The fucked up thing was that Dean, too drunk on alcohol, relief about Sam’s reaction, and Cas, hadn’t really noticed they were at a _gay club_ until they had been there already for fifteen minutes. One would think the absence of girls would have tipped him off sooner. Not that he minds. The place is a haven and he has seen more than a few couples making out and pawing at each other unabashedly. So why the fuck not? He spots Luci sitting at the bar talking to… Gadreel. Huh. He makes his way towards them and catches some of the conversation.

”So who are you here with?” Luci asks Gadreel.

”I’m here with Ad―” Gadreel spots Dean, “―ate.”

”Hey! Gaddy, my man,” Dean claps him on the shoulder grinning. “Fancy runnin’ into you here.”

Gadreel gives him a pinched smile. “Yes. I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go find my date,” he says and gives the both of them a nod before stalking off.

Dean watches him go then turns to Luci. “Dude, what’s up with Gad? He’s not usually that uptight.”

”You want the real answer or do you want to respect his wish for privacy?” Luci asks dryly and hands him a beer.

”Du- _uh_! The real answer, of course,” Dean says, throws an arm around Luci’s shoulders (because, why not?) and clinks their beers together before taking a swig.

Luci sniggers and looks at him with what weirdly enough looks like fondness, then takes a drink too. “In some ways, you’re very unlike your brother,” he says with dry amusement. “Gadreel is uptight because his date isn’t ready to come out of the closet. And he is here with Adam.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot upward. “ _Adam_? Like, my Adam? Adam Milligan Adam?”

Luci has a playful little smirk on his face. “I told you about that before, Dean.”

”Fuck, you did. And he’s here now?” Dean looks around, swaying somewhat, but can’t spot anyone he knows. He still has his arm around Luci’s shoulders, leaning on him. They’re both quite drunk after the shot race that had seemed like a good idea at the time, back in the last bar. It still seems like a good idea, to be fair. He might be leaning a bit too heavily on Luci because Luci puts his arm around his waist to stabilize him. Dean feels Luci’s gun in its holster against his side when he does. So he’d been right about that, huh. He should get himself a good holster too.

”Probably not for long. Apparently Adam is more skittish than you, according to Gadreel.”

”Hey! I’m not skitti―” Dean starts to protest but Luci raises an eyebrow in amusement. Dean breaks out into giggles, and Luci giggles along with him. “I mean, come on. It’s a fucking big thing. Dad beat the living crap outta me for the tiniest fucking hint of anything he perceived as gay. Of course, a guy is gonna be a bit… _skittish_. It’s a fucking huge step, man.” He downs his beer in one long go. “Dude. This beer is lame. How ‘bout some long island iced tea ‘nstead?”

Luci nods along. “Wise choice, little brother in law,” he says and flags down the bartender ordering two long island iced tea ‘extra long’ while Dean is chortling about ‘little brother in law’. He is well and truly drunk indeed to be hanging on to Luci of all people. 

But what the hell? Creepy fucker ain’t that bad. Right? 

Not now, at least. Not when Dean is drunk and happy and Luci just referred to him in a way that spoke of him and Cas belonging together. And Sam had taken it soo well. The relief is palpable and that, as much as anything, is making him giddy. He‘s feeling fuzzy and warm on the inside.

Luci hands him the drink and they clink their glasses together before they drink from it. It’s deceptive. A mix of tequila, vodka, light rum, triple sec, and gin tasting nearly of no alcohol at all. “Where is Cas an’ Sammeh ‘neways?” Dean asks.

”Cassie w’nted to dance so he grabbed Sammy and ‘rdered him to be his chaperone in your absence.” Luci wiggles his eyebrows teasingly. “They’re probably grinding up ‘gainst each other as we speak.” Dean laughs heartily at that. “You’re not bothered? I thought you were the jealous type.”

”So maybe I am, but come _on_. Sam? Naaah. Thr’s a difference. If _I_ was grindin’ up against Cas I’d be fightin’ not to burst in my pants. Sam’d be fightin’ not to burst out laughing,” Dean says confidently. “Plus, if I know my brother right, he’s gonna chase off any competition for me.”

”I’m sure he will,” Luci agrees sniggering. His eyelids are much heavier than usual, cheeks flushed by the alcohol. He spins on his bar stool to face Dean head on, almost causing Dean to topple over in the process and they both have a laughing fit about it. When they gather their wits about themselves again (what little is left of it) Dean keeps a firm grip on Luci’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Now. Real talk, Winchester,” Luci says. “Who told you about Balt?”

Dean puts a finger over his mouth and hushes Luci aggressively while looking around nervously. “Not a good place to talk ‘bout that. Sm’one can overhear,” he says.

”That makes you well informed, I see.” Luci hums thoughtfully, takes another sip of his drink, puts it down then grips Dean’s hips and tugs him in close so that he’s bracketed between Luci’s legs and they’re as good as chest to chest.

”Whoa, woah. What are you doin’?” Dean protests.

”Look at our surroundings, Dean. Put your goddamn arms around me and whisper in my ear and it will look like we’re being _friendly_. No one will overhear or think twice ‘bout it.”

”Eww. Gross! No way.”

”I’m not asking for a make-out session, jackass,” Luci says, vexed. “And considerin’ the topic at hand, I’m insisting you do this. You’ve done worse the last month.”

Yeah. Okay. He has. And he’d been planning to broach the subject with Cas later anyway. In private. And if he tells Cas, logically, Cas will tell Luci since he too was there.

Dean circles Luci with his arms, making a face as he does. Fuck it. He schools his face into something cockier and seducing. “I saw you, okay?” he whispers. “I was walking from the studio and got stuck outside the fence by the docks, having to walk around it. I heard Balt yell for help, ran back to a hole in the fence I’d seen earlier, to come to his aid. But by then you were already there and Cas had gone all psycho killer on that one dude and I just…” he trails off and Luci hums.

Luci turns his head so he’s talking into Dean’s neck, very quietly. “Have you told anyone?”

”No! Whatta fuck, man!” Dean looks around since his indignant protest was a bit loud, then goes back to whispering heatedly. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid. Ya think I’d let anyone take Cas away from me _now_? Double homicide would land him in jail for life an’ I ain’t gonna let that happen. Not now, _not ever_.”

”That’s good. Balt said he thought he’d seen someone but didn’t trust his memories what with the concussion an’ all. It was probably you. Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll be alright.”

”I will. Hey, what’s with the coin?”

”I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you afterwards,” Luci says and sniggers.

”Asshole,” Dean says, but the relief sensing they’ve left the volatile subject makes him chuckle. Just in time too, as he’s sensing someone getting close to them behind his back.

”Dude. I think you’ve got the wrong brother.” Sam’s voice makes both Dean and Luci collapse into a fit of giggles.

Dean disentangles himself and turns around to find Sam and Cas grinning at them. He sways precariously and Cas steps in to capture him. “Dean, are you drunk?” Cas asks with a small smile.

”Yeah… a bit drunk,” Dean concedes with a silly smile.

” _Oh_ ,” both Sam and Cas say and share a look.

”Whassat supposed to mean? An’ how come you’re so much more sober ‘n I am?” Dean says looking at Sam. Sam’s a lightweight for crying out loud. And he’s not even near as drunk as Dean.

”You and Luce got quite competitive doing shots earlier,” Sam answers with amusement.

”That’s right. And I won!”

”I thought we agreed it was a tie,” Luci protests from behind.

”Can’t have a tie,” Dean says and starts raising his hand to call on the bartender, but Cas captures it and pulls it down. Before Dean can protest Cas kisses him and he’s instantly thoroughly distracted, deepening the kiss and not giving a damned about his surroundings. 

This makes Dean overbalance backwards and the two of them lurch a step in that direction. “For heaven’s sake, _not in my lap_ ,” Lucifer protests exasperated, shoving lightly at Dean’s back. Dean thinks it’s hysterical and has another laughing fit while Cas sniggers with a big gummy, mischievous grin. None of them actually making a move to remove themselves from Luci. Luci huffs in mild annoyance and rolls his eyes. He resorts to scooting backwards on the bar stool so that the two of them are bracketed between his legs but Dean’s leaning on the edge of the stool rather than on him.

When Dean has stopped laughing he suddenly remembers something and turns his head towards Sam, who’ve just been watching them with a bemused smile while shaking his head. “Sam! Guess who’s here on a date with Gadreel?”

”Who?”

”Adam!”

Sam’s eyes go round. “ _Adam_? Like, our Adam? Adam Milligan Adam?”

Dean nods enthusiastically.

”No shit?”

”I know, right?”

”Dude, I never would have guessed.”

”That’s because you’re morons,” Luci breaks in and leans his head tiredly between Dean’s shoulder blades. “The only guy in your group of friends who’s 100% gay and you’re blind as bats not to spot it. Don’t know how long Gadreel will hold out, though. He is not comfortable with the secrecy.”

”Can’t fault Adam’s taste, though. If my taste in men wasn’t so particular I wouldn’t mind dippi―”

”Eww, Sammy, no!” Dean sputters and Sam laughs.

”Oh, I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t hear you for all the noise of the glass house shattering around you,” Sam snarks, making everyone―Dean included―laugh.

”Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m an asshole. But I just don’t need the image of you and Gadreel doing the do in my head, ‘ts all,” Dean repents sheepishly. “Now where’s mah drink?”

Lucifer’s hand holding his drink comes over his shoulder and hands it to him while Cas rests his chin on his other shoulder while saying something to Luci. Dean downs the last of the drink and Luci takes his glass away. Dean buries his nose in Cas’ neck and closes his eyes, hooking his hands in the back pockets of Cas’ jeans. He feels Sam rest an arm on his shoulder not occupied by Cas. The three of them are talking but Dean isn’t paying attention. For him, everything is just fucking rainbows and kittens right now. He’s more than happy being cocooned by the three of them. Even Lucifer’s proximity doesn’t bother him. Hell, it’s nice. (Just don’t tell _him_ that. If anybody asks he’s just keeping his place on Luci’s stool to annoy him, okay?) His only complaint is that even with his eyes closed his head is spinning.

”Is this a free for all?” an unknown voice asks.

”No.”

”Don’t even try…”

”Go ‘way ‘f you know what’s good fo’ you.”

Dean chuckles at his companions hostile defensive voices. _Nope. This is a free for me,_ he thinks with smug contentment. Life is good.

* * *

”Dude. I can’t believe you let Dean practically sit in your lap,” Sam grins down at Luci, temporarily taking up the spot (but facing Luci instead) that Dean vacated when Cas noticed he was almost falling asleep and decided to take him to the toilet and then head for the wardrobe.

Luci hums disinterestedly and roams a hand over the contours of Sam’s pectorals, his gaze follows his hand. “Y’re beautiful, Sam,” he says instead, after a beat he adds “I’m drunker than I care to be in public.” Luci looks up and meets Sam’s eyes, then scowls. “Don’t look at me like that,” he chastises.

”Like what?”

”Y’re _leering_.”

”I’m not―”

”I’m not prey, S’mmy,” Luci says and lets his other hand join the first, stroking the outline of Sam’s abs.

”Jesus christ, Luce. If you don’t want me to react to it, you have to stop touching me.”

”You don’t like it when I touch you?” Lucifer’s hands have found their way inside of Sam’s shirt now, softly stroking his sides upward. 

”I _do_ like whe―”

”Then don’t ask me to stop,” Luci says petulantly and stands up, stroking his pecs again. Sam’s heart is racing. He’s not worried they’ll be seen, not really. But the last half hour Luci had been playing with his fingers, stroking each one of them one at a time. From the base and to the fingertip in a way that was friggin’ erotic. Then he’d laced his hand with Sam’s and traced patterns in the palm with his thumb. Cas had been watching with a content smile from over Dean’s shoulder and Dean had remained oblivious. Granted, when Cas was towing Dean away he had heard Dean ask ‘ _Were they holdin’ hands?_ ’. But Cas answered ‘ _No_ ’ and Dean had settled for believing him. Whatever. Sam is far from unaffected by the constant touching and as close as they’re standing now he’s quite certain Luci can _feel_ how affected he is. But any time he’s tried to touch Luci back during the evening he’s been promptly rebuffed. It’s maddening. Luci rubs his thumbs over Sam’s nipples which stiffen from the tease. Luci’s expression turns brooding as he repeats the tease experimentally a couple of times and listens to Sam’s quickening breath. Then he stops and removes his hands. “We sh’ld locate our brothers and be on our way,” Luci says.

Sam just nods. What can he say? It’s been a good night and with Lucifer, there is no pushing boundaries unless he himself is up for it. Quite frankly, Sam’s not sure what Luci is after at the moment. For years he’s been avoiding anything that he knows will get Sam aroused and now, what he just did, was quite intentionally the opposite. Sam begins to move away but Luci stops him with a hand on his neck. Sam’s not prepared to feel Luci’s lips on his but it doesn’t stop him from reciprocating at once. It’s soft and chaste and has Sam thrumming all over. Luci draws back again, wets his lips (a gesture Sam mimics unconsciously) and leans in for another kiss. Firmer, slicker. But he angles his head away when Sam tries to deepen it.

”No. Not when I’m drunk. My senses are too dull,” Luci states.

”Fine,” Sam says, thinking he means kissing in general. Though, as soon as he utters his consent to respect Luci’s wishes the older man’s lips find his again, warm and pliant and slightly parted. Sam melts into it, realising Lucifer is only asking him not to go further than this right now, and that’s okay. They trade semi-chaste kisses for a while then Luci leans back and looks at something beyond Sam.

”Loverboy ready to go?” Luci asks.

”Yes,” Cas answers from behind Sam. “He’s hanging on the wardrobe counter singing my praise to anyone venturing close enough to listen.” You can hear the smile in Cas’ voice. Sam turns his head to look at him. He looks satiated and dishevelled. “My apologies, Sam, it was not my intention to disturb.”

Luci gives Sam one last kiss, unbothered by Castiel’s presence. “Time to go, Sammy,” he says. Sam steps away. Unlike Dean, Luci is quite stable on his legs as they start walking.

”Sam. Could you do me a favour?” Cas asks.

”Sure, Cas. Anything.”

”Find out how much Dean remembers from tonight and fill in the blanks for him. I’d hate to lose progress just because he got drunk.”

”Yesss. All these months of Cassie’s constant pining is getting wearisome,” Luci smirks.

”How long have you been into my brother?”

”A while.”

Luci scoffs and shakes his head in Sam’s direction. “Castiel has been in love with your brother since they first laid eyes on each other. He just didn’t understand it at first.”

”How am I supposed to know that’s what it feels like to be in love? I’ve never felt anything like this before!”

Sam looks back and forth between the two of them as he listens to the banter that ensues. He had no idea how deeply Cas had fallen for Dean. But it’s all for the good. He can see his dream of living together in his version of happily ever after, coming closer to reality. Dean, just as dishevelled as Cas (one can guess they didn’t pee when they went off to the toilets), lights up like the sky on Fourth of July when he sees them. Sam digs the rabbit's foot he got from Tom, out of his pocket and strokes it between thumb and forefinger. It must be working. Sexual frustration aside, it’s all coming together. Cas and Dean, him and Luci, the four of them hanging together and just chilling. Seems the curse of the _Winchester Luck_ ™ is finally over. Life is good.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Shit Dean's confession in 10x16!!!!! 
> 
> That said, comments are gold. ^^  
> And I _am_ going to answer your comments. But writing is my top priority now that the pain is lessening and my muse is firmly in my lap again. :)


	69. What bothers my brother, bothers me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luci and Cas wakes up the morning after yesterdays revelry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter.**  
>     
>  **Notes:**  
>  I didn't expect such positive reactions to the last chapter. To be honest, I had considered leaving it out. But in the end, if my muse tells me to write it, who am I to say it isn't supposed to be in the story, right?
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**SCRATCHING AN ITCH**

* * *

Two days before the derby

”First question, don’t you have your own room? Second, why are you sleeping in my bed? Third, can you shut off that damned light?”

”Yes, to the first question. I don’t like sleeping alone, to the second, and it’s the bloody sun, you twat, so, _no_ to the third.”

Luci smiles in spite of himself and rolls over onto his back, blinking into the semi-darkness his hungover mind perceives as too bright. The heavy red curtains are closed, but with no blackout curtain behind it, light filters through and bathes the suite in soft pink. He smacks his dry mouth and scratches his chest absentmindedly. Apart from what happened to Balt, yesterday had been great. It had also reminded him of everything he missed about his old life and his closeness to his brothers. Sometimes he misses Michael so much it’s almost physically painful, despite everything. If he thought there was the slightest chance of winning him over he’d still be arguing with him to defy _Otac_ and take his side. But in the months after the showdown over Sam, it had become painfully clear that isn’t going to happen. Castiel slotted himself into the Mikey-shaped hole perfectly. In some ways, Cas fit in better, understood Luci in ways Mikey never had. In some ways Cas, once you got to know him, is _exactly_ like Mikey. Michael didn’t like to sleep alone either. They both could be gripped by that restless energy even if the motivation behind is different. Both of them are in need of a lot of physical touches but equally restrictive about from who. And both are at times teasing little shits. So Luci’s happy to have found Cas. (He still misses Mikey, though.)

It’s one particular thing that happened yesterday that got Luci to compare the two of them. A move that Mikey has pulled on Luci countless of times, that Cas duplicated. Granted, it came about because Dean was drunk and unbalanced. Luci found himself with a lapful of brotherly make out session in progress. When he protested, Dean dissolved in laughter and Cas grinned, giving Luci an _Oh-yeah?-Whatcha-gonna-do-about-it?_ -look, and pushed Dean and himself closer, very purposefully keeping the two of them in place. Unlike Mikey, Cas hadn’t resumed the kissing, though, so Luci was fine with it as soon as he didn’t have a horny Dean grinding against his nether parts. In fact, after moving his crotch out of the way he was quite comfortable in that position. Cas’ hands on Dean’s back digging into his stomach, resting his head between Dean’s shoulder blades and Sam plastered to his side, talking about random bullshit. Dean, of course, had been out of the picture, only making the occasional happy hum that he felt through the younger man’s back, rather than heard.

It reminds him so much of the past, it feels bittersweet. How he’d lain in a pile on the couch with his brothers watching TV, or how they’d curled up together in a bed long past bedtime in much the same fashion and talked in hushed voices, trying to keep boyish giggles quiet not to alert _Otac_. They still did it as grown-ups. If one brother entered the living room where another was watching TV, no matter how big the couch was the joining brother would choose to sit curled up against the other. They could be seen grooming each other like Dean had done to Cas after Luci had given him a noogie, especially after having been separated for long stretches of time. It’s not about sex, as it could look like to the casual observer. The Sin-Božji brothers are firmly denied to seek true intimacy and affection from outside sources, so they have to play every part to each other that ordinary people found elsewhere. It’s true that some of them may overstep lines that ought not to be overstepped. Luci doesn’t judge those of his brothers that added ‘lover’ to the list of roles they played, as long as they don’t try anything with him. But for the most part, sex is something they used outsiders for and reserved cuddles and open-hearted talks for each other.

Luci sighs and turns his head to look at the other side of the king size bed where Cas has cocooned himself in two comforters, only his hair sticks up. His new family. Cas and the Winchesters. His _own_ family. Only thing missing is a dog or two. It can’t last and Luci knows it. Cas, and now Sam, knows it too. If they succeed in protecting themselves once they’re found out, it might trigger a civil war amongst the Sin-Božji. He and Cas have spent many nights going over strategies to safeguard themselves. First of all they had to rid themselves of anyone close enough to the inner circle to leak information. So Raphael had a little ‘accident’. Good riddance. Cas wants Luci to put the mark of a full croat on him, something he hesitates to do. A croat is beneath a брат and Luci sees them as equals. It would be belittling to Cas to carve the mark on him. But then again, that is according to the teachings of _Otac_. Since he’s starting his own family, he can redefine the meaning of ‘Croatoan’ within his family. Cas had pointed out that the croats were relatively safe from both the Божја браћа and each other. If anything, bearing the mark would give their would-be enemies pause long enough validate the claim and win them time. The tactically soundest option would be to mark both Cas and the Winchesters.

_That_ is something Luci refuses to do. The very thought of marring Sam’s skin in a way that would make him appear to be a lowly croat (no offense meant towards Cas) abhors Luci. He’s far above that, and the very reason Luci had decided to forsake his old family. Although, maybe he doesn’t have to forsake them all. It is _Otac_ he truly is at war with, and by extension anyone that will side with him. Once again Luci goes down a list of his brothers’ names, trying to guess who could be coerced to side with him instead of _Otac_. He has 31 living brothers, the three youngest he hasn’t even met. You could scratch anyone under the age of 17, which left 25. Then you could scratch the three oldest, they are definitely _Otac’s_ creatures. That leaves 22 that might be swayed. Minus Michael, who’d be impossible to sway. 21. Out of those 21, Luci could only think of one that he feels 99% sure would side with Luci. That’s Liam, Leo’s twin brother. But he lives in Europe and this is not a topic you bring up over the phone.

”Bloody _hell_! Make it stop!”

Cas’ angry outburst breaks Luci’s troubled brooding. With a growl Cas sits up and throws a pillow at the far wall, tearing down a clock that shatters when it hits the floor. He scowls at it, snorts, and promptly falls back on his remaining pillow, curling back in a sleeping position with his back against Luci, now only partly covered by his comforters. Luci lies fondly watching his back for a couple of minutes, then reaches an arm out and presses two fingertips at the knob of his spine, a simple gesture of affection. Cas takes that as an invitation, rolls around and scoots closer, putting his head on Luci’s chest, an arm over his midriff, and a leg over his thighs on top of the comforter. “Cassie, come on,” Luci whines.

Cas pets his chest soothingly, eyes still closed. “Shh, shh. Just let it happen…”

Luci laughs silently. Cas in the mornings is bossy, prone to violence, and clingy. In a way, he’s the most honest about how he feels about people when he just had woken up. If he likes someone he isn’t above trying to force-cuddle them like he’s doing to Luci now. Luci had experimented with that. Ordered everybody in the team to wake Cas up at one point or another to see who Cas tried to pull down to use as a plushie, who got their head chomped off, and who got a warning before the strike. The team viewed this as some kind of rite of passage. To Luci, this has yielded some interesting facts. Of those who got pulled down for a cuddle Balt, of course, would respond with a pleased “Don’t mind if I do.” And would proceed to argue with Luci about how it’s for the best to just let Cas and him be until Cas’ volatile morning temper had cooled off. To which Cas would mumble sleepily “Listen to Balt, he’s a very wise man.” Thus Balt is not allowed to wake Castiel up anymore. _At all_. Gadreel had a lot of integrity when it came to personal space and would throw a bitch fit if Cas tried to pull him down. 

The three team members that surprised Luci was firstly two from their third line that Cas barely spoke two sentences to during the day outside of training. It was Inais McMorran and Constantine Kashetsky. They weren’t pleased by the treatment but Cas all but purred if he managed to capture them. The third member that surprised Luci was the Rit Zien, Ephraim Holmes. Luci knew Cas likes him, but Holmes is serious, straight, and never seeks physical contact with anyone. Yet when Cas tugged him down he’d accept it quite willingly, roll over on his stomach and go to sleep, letting Cas cuddle to his heart’s content. Which is both a problem and hilarious. A problem, because then someone else would have to wake them up and by then Cas would guard his willing cuddlee fiercely and jealously, making it almost impossible to get either of them out of bed. (Which also makes it hilarious.) 

Luci chuckles to himself thinking about what Dean’s reaction to finding the two of them like that would be. He raises a hand and strokes Cas’ hair absently, getting a content unintelligible mumble as a response.

Another person who surprised Luci was Zack. Cas fiercely fended off Zack’s tries to wake him the first time. But Zack proved himself to be sly, and therefore got the job quite regularly. The next time he came armed with coffee held in one of those gripping claws on a stick that you picked up litter with, and a hockey stick in his other hand. He’d poke Cas with the stick and when Cas sat up he’d find himself with a cup of coffee under his nose. Luci doesn’t trust Zack. He’s oily, prone to kiss-assing and discontented whining, but, he _delivers_. That goes for outside of Luci’s little game of _Waking the Dragon_ too.

Of course, Luci’s certain Cas plays up his foul morning temper, silently enjoying people’s reactions. 

”I’m going to call roomse―”

”Coffee.”

”―rvice. Do you want something?”

”Coffee.”

Luci sniggers. “Aside from that?”

”Coffee.”

”I’ll just order a bit of everything then.”

”Coffee.”

Luci grins and scratches his nails on Castiel’s scalp affectionately. He reaches for the hotel phone on the bedside, presses “1” and waits until they pick up at the front desk. “Hi. I’d like to order breakfast to room 2016. For two persons. A bit of every―”

”Coffee!”

”―thing. Yes. coffee too. What kind?”

” _NOT DECAF!_ ”

Luci laughs. “You heard the man. Not decaf. Let’s say two of every kind of coffee you can muster so the grump can choose for himself. Yes. Hmh. Oh, and anything as close to hangover cures your kitchen staff can produce. Yes, that will be fine, thank you.” He hangs up the phone chuckling and gives Cas a symbolic little kiss on the crown of his head. “Your coffee is on its way, jackass.”

Cas grumbles and burrows into Luci’s armpit. He stills and sniffs tentatively. He raises his head with a thoughtful squint, eyebrows drawn down, then promptly bends down his nose again and starts sniffing Luci heartily. _It tickles._ Luci squeaks indignantly, squirms and grabs Cas by the hair to yank him off. “What?” Cas says grouchily as he’s being held at bay by his hair.

”For heaven’s sake, Castiel. What _are_ you doing?”

”I’m merely scenting you. Cataloguing what scents make you home,” Cas states matter-of-factly, like Luci is being totally daft for even asking.

”Are you serious? I must stink like hell right now!”

Castiel squints in confusion. “I would recommend you switch your cologne to Fahrenheit to suit your body’s scent better but other than that? No.”

Luci frowns at him and hums. By now they’re both tilting their heads and looking at each other thoughtfully. Luci lets go of his hair. “Tell me what you smell,” he says curiously.

Cas sniffs him carefully this time, so it doesn’t tickle. He starts recounting all the different scents he can pick out. How Luci’s sweat bears traces of alcohol, what brands he has used for deodorant and cologne, what notes in his scent that is purely him. The traces of the detergent from the sheets (he deems that a nice smell, very specifically pointing out that it rarely is in hotels), he sniffs Luci’s hands and recoils in disgust at the traces of the hotel’s lily of the valley soap. He sniffs Luci’s face (which has Luci going stiff all over yet he allows for it) pinpointing shaving cream. He takes a long deep inhale at Luci’s forehead and concludes it bears traces of _Intimately Beckham_ , Dean’s cologne. He sniffs Luci’s hair with great interest, then fucking _chews on it_. Luci shoves him off. “It doesn’t taste like it smells. What kind of hair product did you use?” Cas asks with a curious frown and clicks his tongue like he’s trying to place the taste and the scent and failing.

”Fudge hair shaper,” Luci answers.

”Well, it does smell like fudge. Lucky for you it doesn’t taste like it or you might have found yourself lacking hair products the next time you need it.”

Luci grins, sniffs himself and shakes his head. All he can smell is the reek of sweat and alcohol residues. It’s not pleasant. “You’re like a fucking dog, Cassie.”

”Scent is very important to me,” Castiel answers solemnly.

”So I see,” then, after a beat, “Can..can I…?”

Cas gets what he means and pushes the comforter aside, baring his throat to accommodate the request. Luci thinks this might be one of the oddest things he has done as he leans in and sniffs Castiel hesitantly. Cas just smells like Cas to him. Sure, there’s the merest traces of aftershave, and some alcohol residue in his sweat. But apart from that, Luci can’t decipher much. Scenting his upper torso, his neck and hair, all Luci can smell apart from Cas’ scent is the scent of the sheets and a vague hint of sex. The sweat scent is unpleasant like hangover sweat usually is, but still a scent that he doesn’t mind by the fact that it’s Castiel’s. He rolls back to lie on his back. “Your sense of smell must be exceptional, Cassie. All I get is a bunch of associations.”

Cas lays on his side and supports his head in his hand, interested now. “And what are those?”

Luci has to think about that. It’s not clear, just a sense of comfort. A feeling of being relaxed and not having to have his guard up. He tells Cas as much.

Cas nods. “Like I said. _Home_ ,” he concludes with satisfaction, and burrows back against Luci’s side, closing his eyes. Luci stares up at the ceiling thinking about it. He knows from other people’s testimony that he and Michael smell quite similar. People had given him clothes Mikey had left behind, telling him ‘It smelled like yours,’ and vice versa. He’d never placed much importance in the sense of smell. Touch is another matter for him. He could bring forth the memory of something he’d touched, so vividly it’s like feeling it all over again along with the feelings he’d experienced at the time. How many times had he not done so with Sam? Or with his beloved baby? If he was a sculptor he’s sure he could have duplicated parts of them to perfection on memory alone. Sam’s face, baby’s paws and ears… A knock on the door breaks him out of his musings. 

He gets out of bed, evading Cas’ attempt to pull him back, grabs a robe hanging on the bathroom door and goes to open. It’s their breakfast. He tips the server and rolls the cart into the room, putting the stuff on the table. All the food makes him a bit nauseated, but he knows he’ll feel better after he has eaten. Pancakes, four kinds of bread, marmalade, cheese, sausage, ham, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, bacon, fresh vegetables and fruit, _Marmite_ , two kinds of juice, two tall glasses of something green with a post-it attached saying “hangover cure”. And coffee. Espresso, regular coffee, cafe latte, cappuccino, and three kinds of flavoured coffee with whipped cream. One smells like caramel, one like hazelnut, and one like mint. 

He takes the minty one and goes back to bed where Cas once again has cocooned himself, but this time in the spot Luci vacated. Luci holds the coffee near to the little opening where Cas’ hair is sticking out. He can hear Cas start sniffing and laughs silently as Cas’ head slowly starts emerging to peer disgruntledly and suspiciously out from under the comforter. “Minty nom nom?” Luci encourages. Cas grunts, but sits up and takes the offered drink so Luci goes back to the table and sits down to eat.

It doesn’t take long before Cas joins him putting down his empty glass and taking the other mint coffee drink, sipping it and blinking vacantly over the table. His leg keeps bouncing restlessly.

”Here. Drink this,” Luci says and puts one of the mysterious green recovery drinks in front of him. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s supposed to cure hangovers.”

Cas takes a long gulp and squints in concentration after swallowing. “Lemongrass, garden mint, spinach, seaweed, lime, dandelion, nettle, mango and one or two things I can’t identify,” he concludes and downs the rest of it without any of the grimacing Luci had done.

”Cow’s feed.”

”I very much doubt cows eat seaweed,” Cas counters.

”Steller’s do.”

”They do not, in fact, eat very much at all, considering Steller’s sea cow has been extinct for quite a while,” Cas says petulantly and turns his attention to the triangular slices of watermelon on the fruit plate. Luci watches him with a little smile. He likes that Cas is full of knowledge about nature and picks up on references like that one. Cas eats the seeds in the melon too. They crunch when he chews, his leg still jumps under the table despite the rest of him being sullen and relaxed, signalling that something is off. He gnaws down to eat the white part of the melon too, looks at the rind with a little squinty frown for a while, then puts him in his mouth and starts chewing.

”For the love of…” Luci leans over the table and yanks the melon rind out of Castiel’s hand, getting a sullen pout as a thank you. “No. You don’t eat that part.”

”I just wanted to know how it tasted,” Cas grouses. It would have been more convincing if half the rind wasn’t already devoured. “Taste is important to me.”

”With that attitude, it’s a wonder you didn’t lick me while you were scenting me.”

Cas perks up, leg stilling. “Was that allowed? I was under the impression it would make you uncomfortable,” he says, deadly serious and hopeful.

Luci can’t hold back the laughter that comes bubbling up. (What was he expecting?) Cas waits patiently for Luci to stop laughing. “No, Castiel. You’re not allowed to taste me,” he says as he goes back to eating his breakfast.

”Oh.” Cas’ leg starts jumping again. 

They continue eating in silence. Luci takes one of the hazelnut flavoured coffees for himself as Cas is working his way through all the sweet coffees. Occasionally Cas will stop eating to glare at one of the walls. Luci turns around to see what he’s looking at, gets up and walks over to the wall and takes the clock down, removing the batteries. (Who puts two clocks in a suite anyway?) He hangs it back on the wall again and goes back to his breakfast. Cas doesn’t say anything but his aura is calmer. Yet still the leg is jumping. Luci hums.

After breakfast, they shower together. It’s a large shower and Cas is unobtrusive so Luci doesn’t mind. They brush their teeth side by side. When Luci gets dressed Cas leaves for his own room dressed only in a robe. Soon he comes back fully dressed. Luci walks up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen carefully, Castiel. I’ve got a shitload of meetings today. _Your_ objective for the day is to scratch that itch.”

”I don―”

”I’m not done talking. These are the rules. No drugs. No injuries that will prevent you from playing. Don’t get caught. Be at the studio at 19:30 ready for your interview. And inform me later what you did so I can take measures to keep you safe should it be necessary. Is that clear?”

”Yes, Sir.”

”Good. You’ve got approximately seven hours to satiate your craving. I expect you to do that. It’s not a request, it’s an order. Now off you go.”

Cas face is impassive. But Luci sees a whole range of emotion flit over it. Tiny barely noticeable shifts in the muscles around his eyes and mouth. Dilation of the pupils. How the eyes seem to shift colour to a brighter blue. Excitement, gratitude, hunger. Cas hesitates for just a moment, then turns and leaves.

Luci watches the door for a moment. Indeed, Mikey and Cas have more in common than they’d ever know. Even if the drive behind is different. He could rationalize the order as a tactical thing. The day after they took care of Raphael, Castiel played like the king of kings. But truthfully, Luci doesn’t care about that. He just wants those he loves to be happy or content, whatever it takes for them to be that way. Besides, whatever Cas decides to do, it will hone skills that will come in handy in the future. Luci is sure of it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you, after I publish chapter 70, I will backtrack and answer all your comments from chapter 64 and onward. Then I'll go back to answering them as usual. Thank you so much for keeping up commenting despite my neglect. But right now, I'm on a roll and I don't want to jinx it. :)


	70. Sweet Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters run into Cas and he doesn't seem happy to see them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- kids, don't try this at home.  
> -Bad influence!Cas
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Okay, just so you know, I'm lying in this chapter. It's an alternative universe so let's blame that. In reality, the car mentioned does not have a back seat. So I made one up. This kind of sports cars does not come with back seats. I also very much doubt there is a sound system to plug in your phone with in real life. Just go with it okay? Any other facts about this car are based on reality though.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).
> 
> I also want to add that we have seen this behaviour from Cas before, but then we saw it in a distant contemplative way. Not we're _right there_ with him.
> 
> [Link to the spotify playlist Cas is playing.](https://open.spotify.com/user/coplins/playlist/5r8BCqRG2IlG1iVepQ7umS)

* * *

**I LIKE YOU ‘CAUSE YOU’RE TROUBLE**

* * *

Two days before the derby

* * *

“Hey, Cas! We were just coming to find you!”

Cas goes rigid when he hears Sam’s voice behind him outside of the hotel. He turns around stiffly to face them. They can’t see his eyes behind the aviators (Fuck, he’s hot in aviators!) but he pales visibly at the sight of them and it makes Dean’s joy at seeing him falter. “Dean. Sam. I wasn’t expecting to see you. Why didn’t you call?” Cas says, voice tighter than usual, as he _visibly schools himself_ to look like he’s happy to see them. Whatta fuck?

”It’s a nice day for a walk, we thought it was a good idea to come here and surprise you,” Sam says with a troubled smile, showing that he too noticed Cas’ strange reaction.

” _Sam_ thought it was a good day for a walk. _I_ thought it was a good day to stay in bed feeling sorry for myself and nurse my hangover,” Dean says. _But I came along anyway because I wanted to see you,_ he doesn’t say in face of Cas’ reaction. “And what’s up with the hotel? We’re crammed up in a shitty motel and you get the fucking Hilton?”

Castiel’s grin is honest and gummy this time. “Tell me in advance the next time and I will see to that you get accommodations that match with what I deem you worthy of. I’m afraid the penthouse suite was taken this time, though,” he says regretfully.

Sam grins. “We’ll manage. So where are we going?” he says, inviting themselves to whatever Cas is off to do.

Cas looks troubled. “I’m not sure yet.” He huffs. “Sam. Dean. I’m about to do something I doubt you’ll condone of. I don’t think it’s a good idea if you come along.”

Dean’s thoughts instantly jump to what he saw yesterday and he feels the anger flow back. He doesn’t like Cas lying and hiding things from him. He throws up his hands and takes a step back, bowing his head. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want us with you. Come on, Sammy. Guy wants some space.”

Cas removes his aviators and steps in close to them, looking Dean straight in the eyes hidden behind his own pair of sunglasses. “No, Dean,” he says. “That is not true. I want you with me. My fear is that if you _do_ join me, you will no longer want to keep my acquaintance.” His eyes are earnest, almost appearing pale blue, and convey worry.

”Try us, Cas,” Sam says.

”Yeah, Cas. I trust you. ‘S about time you trusted me too,” Dean adds with a quick glance towards Cas’ gloved hands.

Cas looks back and forth between the brothers and then nods. “Very well. I would enjoy your company,” he concedes and holds out a hand towards Dean, twitching it questioningly. Dean takes it.

It’s fucking stupid really. Outside of the hotel where the Angels are staying there might be paparazzi or reporters. It would be dumb to be caught on camera holding hands with his rival. Especially since the only one who knows about them is Sam. It would be better if people found out because he told them, not because they saw a picture in the paper. But he remembers kissing Cas in the bar, he remembers getting caught fucking Cas up against the wall by the kitchen worker. He remembers the relief and elation of _not hiding._ So he tugs Cas in close and gives him a kiss. “I’m all in, Angel,” he says and smirks.

Cas return-smile is beautiful and so worth it. Sam’s beaming at the two of them. Sam had spent the morning recounting what happened yesterday. Dean remembers they took a taxi to a new place after the first bar, but he doesn’t actually remember getting there. Apparently, they went to a gay club. Sam did his best to fill in the blanks. Along with some outright lies. Sam claimed that when he and Cas came back from dancing they had found Dean and Luci _hugging_. Like hell they did! He would never do that. Over his dead body! Apart from that, he wishes he could remember the things Sam told him because it seemed they had a great time the whole evening. After the retelling, Sam proceeded to badger Dean about if he’s serious about Cas until he admitted that, yes, he is. This made Sam inappropriately happy for some reason.

”So where are we going?” Sam asks again.

Cas smiles at him. “I don’t know yet, but as you said, it’s a nice day for a walk so let's start with that,” he says and puts his aviators back on.

The sun is shining and no clouds are to be seen. It’s warm and there’s no breeze. Dean’s glad he left his jacket at home. Castiel is only wearing a long-sleeved tee, to begin with, one of those Sam had gotten him for his birthday. (‘Keep Calm and the answer is 42’) But Sam and he resorted to taking their plaid shirts off and tie them around their waists. Sam, the only one of them not wearing sunglasses, keeps complaining about how bright the sun is. Dean complains about being thirsty. Cas and Dean are getting quite a few sneers and ugly looks as they walk around hand in hand. Cas feigns obliviousness. Dean, on the other hand, stares bloody murder on anyone who takes offense. Maybe that’s why they don’t get comments about it. Not all reactions are negative, though. They get a couple of ‘ _Aww_ s and bright smiles.

Cas is somehow thrumming. There’s something intense about him, slightly jittery. He keeps walking into people and looking around like he is searching for something. They happen upon a market in progress. Lots of stalls with clothes, candy, jewelry and knick-knacks. There Cas lets go of Dean’s hand while they look around. It’s kind of fun looking around and comment on the stuff they see. But there are a lot of people around and soon they move on. As they emerge from the throng of people Cas hands Dean a Pepsi MAX and Sam a baseball cap while putting on a baseball cap of his own. He has a black hoodie tied around his waist that wasn’t there before.

”Thanks. I didn’t see you buy this,” Sam says.

”I didn’t,” Cas says offhandedly. Dean can’t help the little thrill that runs through him at that. He’s so screwed. He _does_ have a bad boy kink going on. It’s just absurd. He’s been stealing stuff his whole youth out of necessity, why would he find it attractive in somebody else? It was scary seeing Cas beat that guy to a pulp. But the fact that he _can_ turns Dean on. And now this? Yeah. He’s fucked up for sure.

”Oh. Cas, if you don’t have money on you I’d be happy to lend you some,” Sam says.

In response, Cas digs up a wad of cash out of his pocket and holds it up so Sam can see. Dean unscrews his Pepsi and takes a drink from it while watching Sam’s reaction curiously.

”Cas. That’s wrong,” Sam says concerned while rubbing the cap in his hands, as if he’s contemplating if he should put it on or not.

”I warned you, you might not like me anymore if you came along. I let you two come along because I wish you to know me, all of me. It’s not pretty, Sam. There’s a side of me that I thought I had left behind, but I haven’t. I realise I might lose you as a friend over it, and…” Cas looks over at Dean, “I might lose your brother’s affection because of it. Maybe it’s for the best if you both just turned back right now and don’t get involved.” Dean just looks at Cas with a fond lopsided smile.

”It takes more than that to scare off us Winchesters,” Sam says with a little smile tugging at his lips and strokes his hair back to put on the baseball cap. In truth, Dean had expected more of an argument from Sam.

”Are you sure?” Cas inquires.

”Hells yeah, we’re sure, Angel,” Dean reassures him. “How’d you think I put food on our table when our dad went AWOL when we were kids?” Dean wasn’t sure how much Sam had told Cas about their childhood. And Sam and Dean hadn’t really spoken of what Dean did to provide for them back in the day. But Sam isn’t stupid. He knows. He had just never been part of the process before, as far as Dean knew. And no reaction of surprise comes from either Sam or Cas from that statement.

”In that case, I must warn you. We’re just getting started.”

”Do your worst,” Sam challenges, tugging the corners of his lips down in a sturgeon face but eyes shining with excitement.

”That’s my boy!” Dean slaps Sam on the back. “You heard him, Cas. Let’s go fuck shit up!”

* * *

A while later they’re walking down a deserted street in a fancy business neighbourhood. Cas has acquired a baseball cap for Dean too and supplied them with new refreshments. Sam seems a bit torn between guilt and elation. Dean can relate. _Now_ he has no problem with it, but when he was younger he could be haunted by guilt for days after he’d broken into someone’s house to get food, clothes, and money. Wondering if he’d bereaved some poor bastard of their rent money, or if some kid had saved their own money to buy the shirt he stole for Sam’s benefit. Or, when hustling pool failed, when he’d knocked some drunk over and plucked him for his money, how bad the consequences were for the stupid fuck. Later, he’d guilt trip about no longer feeling guilty. He stopped when he started earning too much money to justify the behaviour. Thing is, staying on the straight and narrow isn’t easy once you veered off it. For two reasons. One, you see things you want but can’t afford, yet you know how easy it’d be to just take it. There’s this itch in your fingers you have to fight. And not like a kleptomaniac. They steal _anything_ , whether they need it or not. It’s a compulsion for them. For an instance, Dean would never go into a lingerie store and come out with ten pairs of bras just for the ever loving hell of it like a kleptomaniac would. It isn’t that kind of itch. The second reason is the thrill. The fear of getting caught, the rush of adrenaline, and then the elation you feel when you get away with it.

The sound of a loud car engine distracts them from their current discussion about the teams they’d be set to meet if they make it to the ChHL. “That’s a sweet ride,” Sam says about the blue Porsche 9FF GT9 that comes rumbling by them up the street.

”Indeed,” Cas agrees, tracking the car with a pinched expression as it parks in a vacant spot up the street.

”Naaah. It’s got nothing on my Baby,” Dean says as they keep walking. (It is a sweet ride, though.)

”Dean. That’s a top of the line sports car. Yours is a classic car. They’re both sweet rides but different categories. It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” Sam argues as the owner gets out and crosses the street to the other side, walking in the direction they come from.

They argue about it for a while, passing by the car, until Sam says “Hey, where’s Cas?” They stop and look around just to see him come walking in their direction on the other side of the street. He has a devilish little smirk playing on his lips as he crosses back to their side. They wait for him to catch up, but instead of jogging all the way to them the car beeps twice, flashing the side lights indicating it’s been unlocked, and Cas gets into the driver's side.

”No fucking shit!” Dean grabs Sam and drags him at a jog back to the car. 

The passenger door opens by the time they catch up, the front seat tipped forward to let someone into the cramped backseat. “You coming?” Cas asks with a cocky smirk. Sam throws himself into the backseat, barely fitting once the front seat is back in place. Dean gets in and shuts the door.

”Holy shit, Cas. You _stole_ the car?” Sam asks bewildered.

”I merely bumped into a stranger who happened to drop his keys in my pocket. If you want to get out, do so now. Otherwise, buckle up. This lady can fly, so that’s what we’re going to do,” Cas says with a purr while hooking up his phone to the sound system and putting on Spotify.

It’s madness. Insanity. Fucking _demented_. Steal a car? Yeah sure. Steal a car worth more than a million dollars in broad daylight? _No-fucking-way-in-hell_! You don’t get away with that. You just don’t. Yet both Sam and Dean don’t waste a second fastening their seat belts. Dean’s heart is hammering and pulse beating so loud in his ears he can barely hear the tones of Adam Lambert’s _For Your Entertainment_ starting to pour out of the speakers. Cas drives off at a leisurely pace. Probably smart as this baby shooting off at full speed would make enough sound to alert the whole block. The engine’s hum can be felt in the whole car. Once they’re out from the street Castiel stops by a red light, takes off his aviators and revs the engine. The sound is so loud it drowns out the music. Cas turns his head to look first at Sam and then at Dean. His pupils are so dilated they nearly swallow up all of the iris and there’s a mad gleam in them, yet also a razor-sharp focus.

”There’s a traffic camera up ahead. Bend down your heads and give it the finger. We are bound for take off,” he says with a predatory grin, then hikes up his shirt and hitches it over his nose.

They do, letting the baseball cap obscure their faces. Cas turns up the music almost painfully loud and when the traffic light switches to green he floors it.

The car shoots off like it’s rocket launched, pushing them back in their seats. It takes about four seconds for it to reach 100km/h (62 mph). Soon after Cas lets the shirt fall back down and they’re in the clear from the camera so they can look up.

Cas does not let up from the gas pedal, their speed increases steadily. Dean’s stomach swoops from fear and fucking ecstasy. A quick glance back shows Sam hanging on to the front seats caught in between a scream and a jubilant grin. Dean can’t hear him though, over the roar of the engine and the music blasting. (currently _Justified and Ancient_ )

213 km/h (132 mph) now and they’re encountering traffic. 

_ShitShitShitShitShitShit_ _We’re going to die. We’re dead. Fucking hell!_

Cas is not slowing down. He weaves between cars like they’re not even a minor disturbance. Dean should be watching the road, but he gets caught up watching Cas instead.

Cas has a rapturous grin on his face, eyes locked on the road like a fighter jet pilot. He looks savage. Both insane and in full control at the same. Relaxed and wound up tight like a coil. He radiates joy. A predator mid-attack, sure of it’s victory. And still their speed is increasing.

253 km/h (157 mph) and counting.

A car suddenly comes out from a side street in front of them and Dean _screams_.

 

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep something something **GOD FUCKING DAMN**!!!_

 

Cas’ evasive move jerks them and jars painfully where the seat belts pull tight. 

Dean can’t even hear his own scream over the noise. His adrenaline is spiking, heart beating frantically. If this doesn’t kill them he’s going to be dead anyway. Heart attack. An aneurysm in the brain. He’s going to fucking _die of fright_!

Cas does not look afraid. Fucking kamikaze pilot.

Cas takes curves with skill and surety. 299 km/h (185 mph) and he’s in his element. He’s singing (or mouthing) along to the current song. _Trouble_ by TooManyLeftHands.

”... _I like you yeah, I like you ‘cause you’re trouble…_ ”

NO FUCKING SHIT! 

Oh, he’s trouble alright. They stepped in a bear-trap befriending Cas. Who knew this was hidden under the nerdy surface of the man who once acted like defying the library’s food prohibition was the greatest of crimes he’d ever committed.

Dean’s heart flutter and stomach swoops and it has nothing to do with fear.

_Fuck I’m so so soo very screwed_.

They’re outside of the city now, coming onto a long, straight stretch of road, only a few cars sparsely dotting it. Cas lets out an exhilarated whoop that can be heard over all the noise and drives onto the middle of the two-lane road. It’s pedal to the metal.

314 km/h… 346…. 357….369…. The acceleration plasters them to their seats. The speed shakes the car, the sound of the engine drowning out the music. ….382….394… 398….

Dean is beyond fear now. It’s fucking rapture. 

....400… 402….405….407…. 409 km/h (254 mph).

One mistake now and it’s over. Cars are not supposed to go this fast on public roads. Cars are not meant to go this fast, period. Castiel has compared it with flying. If by flying he meant hurtling through the atmosphere from space, catching fire on re-entry, then yeah. This is flying.

Dean chances a glance back at Sam. Sam’s eyes are wide, mouth open in an expression of horrified, exultant awe. Very much like Dean feels.

You don’t get to experience this in a lifetime. A car like this? First of all, this car costs more than a million dollars. Dean knows this as he will happily flip through all of the car magazines Bobby keeps subscriptions to, down at the shop. This car boasts a whopping 980-something horsepower. Ordinary mortals simply don’t get to drive a monster-babygirl such as this. (Although, Dean wonders why they had to make the interior a matching blue and put an ugly white stripe with the ‘9ff’ on the side of the car.) Next thing is that if you _do_ get the chance to ride it, you’ve got to have a driver that can handle it at this speed. He or she needs to have lightning quick reflexes, genuine understanding of the interaction between the car and road, plus be _absolutely fearless._

Dean looks at Cas. Now he is all laser focus. Grip firm and sure on the steering wheel. He’s fucking born for this. A mythical beast kept in chains suddenly released to soar in its true glory. He’s magnificent to look at. Cheeks flushed and breathing fast but steady. Calm and outrageously amped up all at once.

The car is built low to the ground and it gives the feeling of actually feeling the road rush past at breakneck speed under their feet. Part of Dean wants to curl into a ball and fervently recite every prayer he has never known. Part of him wants to climb onto the roof and fucking howl at the proverbial moon in sheer euphoria.

They couldn’t get Cas to stop if they wanted. The noise is too loud and Dean wouldn’t dare touch Cas right now, lest he lose his concentration for a second resulting in instant death.

Cas drops the car down to 379 km/h (235 mph) and swivels around another car, then takes her down further as the road starts to be curvier. At 345 km/h (214 mph) they can hear the music again. Cas is weaving between the increasing traffic like a boss.

” _...I know you think I'm maybe out of line, I'm scared to love what we love most, It's only gonna take a little time, Before we start to lose our minds. Wake. Up…_ ” AWOLNATION is singing. Dean’s throat hurts and he realises that he’s cackling like a madman.

The speed is lessening again, back to **_only_** 300 (186) when Cas suddenly takes a sharp turn to the left, seemingly trying to turn the car on the spot.

The terrified scream is _ripped_ out of Dean’s throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he’s pressed against the door by the centrifugal force, feeling the car clawing to keep it’s screeching grip on the road. He would swear his heart stopped beating right then.

 

**SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT**

 

_We’re gonna flip! We’re gonna flip! We’re gonna flip!_

 

_We’re gonna flip! We’re gonna die! flip-and-die- **flip-and-diE-FLIP-AND-DIE!!!**_

 

 

And then―

 

 

―the car rights itself again onto a new road.

 

 

Dean opens his eyes and sucks in a shaky breath. He’s soaked in sweat and holding on so hard to the inner cage of the car his hands are numb. Hysterical laughter comes bubbling up from the immense and total relief of being not-dead. He shares an elated look with Sam, who is also laughing while blinking tears out of his eyes.

It’s weird how fucking _ALIVE_ you feel when you’ve just experienced a _holy-shit-sweet-baby-Jesus-mother-Mary-please-save-me-I’m-about-to-die_ -moment.

Cas―the motherfucker little shithead―looks as if he was never even worried. Maybe he wasn’t. His eyes never left the road, paying no heed to his passengers. _Thankfully._ If he did, this would end in flames. 

Dean had thought he knew what he was in for when they said it took more to scare off the Winchesters. After all, Dean had seen Cas go all psycho-nutjob-killer yesterday. He was NOT prepared for this. How could he be? How could anyone? He’s an idiot to begin with, not to discourage Sam despite knowing how dangerous Cas is. Every sane brain cell that hasn’t died of shock by now, tells him that they should cut Cas loose when (if) they get out of the car alive. Yet looking at Sam as they fucking _cruise_ down the road at 280 km/h (174 mph) he knows they won’t. Not with the look of ecstatic joy his little brother radiates. Quite surprisingly. He’s supposed to be the levelheaded goodie two-shoes, not Dean. He should be abhorred and angry at Cas, but he’s not. Dean looks at his boyfriend by his side. Dude got some mad skills. And come to think of it―Cas had repeatedly tried to warn Dean off of him. As far back as when they were at the restaurant on their date-whatever. Dean could hear the words Cas uttered almost half a year ago ring in his head as if he heard them yesterday. _"Dean, Listen carefully, one day your own choices may depend on it: You can trust me with your life - but you can not trust me to make morally acceptable decisions. I do things that are not to be considered sane sometimes."_ This is, very fucking clearly, what he’d warned Dean about.

The speakers blast the first notes of Kevin Rudolf and Lil’ Wayne’s _Let it Rock_ and Dean feels great. He is friggin floating, high on life. If this is Cas’ version of flying, then he can deal. This is awesome!

He’s starting to relax, singing along with the lyrics. “ _...Because when I arrive, I, I'll bring the fire. Make you come alive, I can take you higher…_ ”

That’s when they spot the police car far up ahead on the road. Cas' eyes lock on the police car. He flexes his gloved hands on the steering wheel, lowers his chin, licks his lips and wiggles his butt on the seat, like a cat getting ready to pounce. His lips draw up to bare his teeth in what can only be described as a predatory, pleased snarl, rather than a smile. And then― _he floors it._

 

_Fuck!_ Good feeling gone!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. I had to break this chapter in two because - horror of all horrors - I have to work tomorrow so I can't stay up writing all night tonight. So comments will be answered after the next chapter. I had planned the car ride to be a whole chapter. Not two. But, you know. *shrug*


	71. I bring the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas, Sam, and Dean are in a car chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS for this chapter:**  
>  \- **DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME!!!**  
>  What Dean does in this chapter is possible in reality and just the dangers mentioned are just as real! Don't experiment with chemical reactions on your own. You want to see it done? Search YouTube.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**GONNA NEED A SPARK TO IGNITE**

* * *

Early April 2014

Two days before the derby

* * *

Sam hadn’t applied to college despite knowing he probably could have gone on a full ride. He was content playing hockey and working for Bobby. He didn’t care for a career. If dad had still been alive, it would have been different. He could have gone to Stanford where Brady’s parents had wanted Brady to go. They could have decided to go there together. Left dad, Dean, and Lucifer behind. He would never have met Cas. He’d have hung out with straight-laced Brady, met a good girl. Or, who knows? Without Lucifer lurking in the shadows maybe Brady would have become his boyfriend. With all they’d done, he’s sure Brady wouldn’t have minded bringing a girl into their bed once in awhile. He’d become a civil rights lawyer working pro bono and Brady a doctor. No, a surgeon. An open heart surgeon. Or a pediatrician. A renowned pediatric cardiologist. Yes. That’s it. They could have married. Adopted a couple of orphaned kids, gotten a dog. Lived in a big house with a white picket fence by the beach in California (Brady would be able to afford it despite Sam working pro bono). Donated to charity. Lead a good and _wholesome_ life.

A wise man (or rather, an ex-junkie-slash-hitman, possibly not so wise) had once told him “Sometimes the wrong people are right for _you_.” Sam thinks it’s the other way around. _He_ is right for the wrong people. He attracts the most dangerous ones. Lucifer, Michael, and apparently― _Castiel_. Who else? His old lover Tom? Probably had a mister Hyde inside. Blond Ruby wasn’t exactly a goody-two-shoes. Dark-haired Ruby that Sam has a thing for is surely also messed up. Come to think about it, maybe Brady hid some dark side too. What else could he believe after this?

He couldn’t really put all the blame on them. Lucifer? Instant attraction. Cas? The same. Although he files Tom under the category ‘A good man’, if you look beyond how hot (and kind) Tom is―a huge part of the pull, had been how forbidden what they did was, how _wrong_. 

Sam believes in law and order. He has loads of empathy. His hero is Drizzt Do'Urden, not Artemis Entreri, for Christ sake! He always favours the valiant hero who fights evil, consumed by guilt for the lives he or she takes in the name of good. Who carries the weight of the world on their shoulders so less resilient people don’t have to. ….(Come to think of it, that might describe what Dean has tried to do for him his whole life. It’s not Dean’s fault Michael messed that up.) His ideals are those of the good guys. He wishes he was like them. Not _tainted_. (His obsession with collecting serial killer stats is purely scientific, okay? Same with urging Dean to turn the Impala’s trunk into a hunter’s kit. It’s not like he believes in monsters or _wants_ to live the lifestyle of his mom’s fairytales. He doesn’t. He’s a good guy, okay? It just tickles his imagination.) 

If dad was alive he would have run off to lead a life that corresponded with his ideals, just to prove that he could. He would have avoided people that saw the tainted parts of his soul and called them pure. He would pretend he came from a normal family and not mention his past more than in passing to his (currently imaginary) closest friends. He swears he would hang with the people who’d gasp in horror if details of his childhood slipped out, not with those who just nodded along and shared their own stories. Yes. That’s how it would have been. 

Probably.

 

 

If dad had been alive, Sam is pretty convinced he currently would _**not**_ be whizzing by a police car going 350 km/h (217 mph)―so close they almost scratch its paint―while ducking his head down and holding up his middle finger to the window, every fibre in his body alight and thrumming.

The speakers blast “... _Let it rock! Let rock! Let it rock!..._ ” and Dean’s screaming “ **CAS, NOOOOOO!!!** ” so loud it can be heard over both music and engine roar.

Cas actually slows down then while looking in the rearview mirror, pretty quickly dropping their speed to 150 km/h (93 mph). Panicked, Sam almost thinks he’s going to stop for a beat or two. But then the blue and red flashes from the now chasing police car close in, Castiel gets this fiercely pleased expression and Sam realises his true intentions. He’s _goading_ them.

The Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor chasing them is _a lot_ heavier than their car, has maybe one third or one-fourth of their horsepower (he’d have to ask Dean to know for sure) and would all-in-all have a top speed of maybe half of theirs. Cas could have just whooshed by and been gone before they’d even have a chance to call for backup. Cas _wants the chase_.

He thought his pulse couldn’t go any faster. He thought wrong. But it’s excitement racking it up. _His taint._ He never thought there’d come a day he was chased by the police in a stolen sports car. He fervently wishes he wasn’t enjoying himself so much. He directs an appalled bitchface in Castiel’s direction for putting his bad side in the spotlight, the side of him he doesn’t want to acknowledge. The part that doesn’t want to be told what he can and cannot do―that hears “You’re not allowed to…” and instantly goes “You’re not the boss of me!” The part that gets a thrill from doing the forbidden. He always does his best to do the right thing, so people will not suspect how seductive he finds the wrong thing to be.

Cas has been in full control of the vehicle since the moment they got in. Even when he took that suicidal turn and it felt like the car was a hair’s breadth from losing its grip on the road Cas looked 100% sure of what he was doing so Sam had been equally sure they were going to make it. It didn’t stop his body from breaking out in cold sweat and tears forming in his eyes during the turn, though. He’s high on a friggin’ power trip thanks to Cas. They are invincible and nothing can convince him otherwise. 

The backseat isn’t made for someone in Sam’s size. He’s crammed into an uncomfortable position. There’s friggin _cleaning gear_ and whatnot on the floor that hit his legs every time Cas swivels or turns. Sam hardly notices. Cas has increased the speed, keeping a constant distance to the police car. They’re at 210 km/h (130 mph) and coming up on traffic again. Cas weaves between cars masterfully, keeping track both of the police and the road, casting glances towards the sky occasionally. They _own_ the road. Sam’s face has split in a big, delighted, open-mouthed grin without him noticing. Dean turns around and looks at him, eyes wide and wearing a _is-this-shit-really-happening?_ -expression. It morphs into a _well-alright-then_ -type of expression when he sees Sam’s exalted grin.

Sam swears you’d be able to sell their combined adrenaline by the bucket. He’s got needles and pins in his hands and arms from it. Every time the car jerks he forgets to breathe for a beat. Just like when you’re on a roller coaster. You scream, your stomach roils, and you hold on for dear life - yet you trust the equipment to keep you safe. That’s how it feels like right now, but magnified by a thousand times. He feels so very _liberated_!

Another stretch of straight road without cars and their speed climbs back to near its top speed. The acceleration plasters them back in their seats and the police car disappears far behind until it’s out of view, them having a long lead. Cas slows down and shouts “ **HOLD ON!** ” loud enough to be heard. That’s all the warning they get before Cas turns the wheel sharply while hitting the break.

The car screeches and _drifts_ , its rear almost level with its front, the side straight over the white midline of the road. Sam lets out an exhilarated scream. 

 

_Is he thinking what I think he’s thinking?_

 

 

_Holy Shit. He **IS**!_

 

The car comes to a near stop, it’s tail has done a 180° spin. And then they’re off again. _Going in the wrong direction on a one-way road._

Sam digs his rabbit’s foot out of his pocket and squeezes it. Cas still looks like he knows exactly what he is doing. So be it. This is freedom. He’s in.

* * *

_God bless this food we’re about to receive, amen. God bless this food we’re about to receive, amen. God bless this food we’re about to receive, amen._ He should _really_ broaden his spectrum of prayers that he knows by heart. This one isn’t fucking cutting it!

This is not real. This is not happening. He is dreaming. Soon he will wake up their shitty motel room with a hangover and memories of a great evening with the two people he cares the most for, Sam and Cas, and their unfortunate creep addition Lucifer.

Who knew there would come a day when Dean is the sanest person in a company. Cas and Sam are wearing the same fucking manic expressions. Heads tilted down a notch, nostrils flared, fierce grins and their eyes―glowing with _fucking madness_ ―focused on the road. 

“.... _So light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... I'm on fire!_....” DJ Kee’s version of _My song knows what you did in the dark_ blasts from the speakers.

They’ve passed the line between reason and insanity. Overshot it by miles flying at lightspeed. Dean feels like everything is too unreal to be scared. It’s like looking up and spotting a piano falling straight towards you, and go “ _Oh. It’s just a piano. It can’t hurt me. That only happens in movies._ ”. It feels like his body is afraid, but _he_ isn’t. Seriously, if this was real life Cas would not deliberately have lined their car up the wrong way in the same file as the police car is approaching in.

It seems like time is going in slow motion, sound is distant, faint, and doesn’t really register in his brain. He’s got goosebumps and can’t look away from the approaching police car. He sees the faces of the terror-stricken officers in the car. Cas keeps them steady, doesn’t veer out of the way.

It may be in slow motion for Dean, but they’re going too fast for it to be called “last minute” when the driver of the police car yanks the steering wheel to the side to avoid a collision. More like last second. With the speed they’re going at it’s a narrow escape. Dean can fucking count the crows feet by the officer’s hazel eyes before the police car swivels out of the way.

Sound returns with a vengeance. Sam’s whooping excitedly in the backseat, he himself is cackling like a fucking madman, and judging by the strain in his throat he has been the whole time.

“.... _So light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... I'm on fire!_....” 

Fuck Yeah! They _are_!

”Dude! We just chicken raced the police! How’d you know they would swerve?” Sam shouts leaning forward between the front seats. Cas has gone into the midline now to avoid any other oncoming traffic. He’s cruising between those cars with the same ease he did while going the same direction. Fuck if that’s not hot.

”Most people don’t want to die!” Cas shouts back.

”NO FUCKING SHIT!” Dean adds his piece to the discussion. The loud volume prevents any detailed explanations for Cas’ behaviour.

Not long after, Cas turns onto another road, going the right direction this time. Once again the police catch up to chase. There are two cars behind them this time. Cas keeps their speed between 200-250 km/h (124-155 mph). Just enough to allow their followers to tag along but not so slow that they’ll catch up. The music shifts into _Immortals_ by Fall Out Boy, then _I love it_ by Icona Pop and Dean feels fucking awesome. His heart rate has calmed down and he’s singing along to the music, unruffled by the fact that two police cars have turned to five. He’s fucking high on life and judging by their faces, so are Cas and Sam. This is crazy. He can’t even begin to figure out how they’ll get away with it. Once you get over the fact that this is insane, that _Cas_ is insane, all that’s left to do is to enjoy the ride. Blasting forth at breakneck speed in an awesome car with his brother, and the sexiest motherfucker on Earth driving. 

Dean spends a moment considering the playlist Cas is blasting. He can’t possibly have planned this. They had wandered around aimlessly and come upon the car. Yet the fast beats and the _lyrics_ are tailor-made for this kind of occasion. It’s really an up-to-no-good-playlist. Dean wonders how often Cas does this, or wants to do this but holds back, opting to listen to the music instead. He wonders if Cas, just like himself, lies in bed with music washing over him through headphones while wishing for another life, another place.

Sam is different. He could listen to a song over and over, learn to sing it by heart, but if you tried to discuss the actual lyrics with him it’s as if he hasn’t even heard the song at all. He just “ _liked the melody_ ”. Freak. Poetry, however, he’d pick apart and turn over and over ‘til his head fell off (and Dean’s ears in the process). For Dean, if there is music with the words they’d soak into his bones. They’d come alive and speak to him, for him, about himself and his own life. It must be the same for Cas considering that he several times has used music lyrics as a form of communication. Of course, he’d heard Cas discuss poetry with Sam too. Cas is a total nerd, after all. Some kind of messed up mix between nerd/jock/badass/whatnot. He’s just… weird. Dean still thinks he’s weird. And hot. And awesome. It makes Dean’s mind wander into an explicit territory.

_Jesus Christ!_ Stop thinking about fucking him up against a wall! We’re in the middle of a car chase, goddammit!

” _...You see, why does it feel so good? So good to be bad…_ ” David Guetta’s _Bad_ captures the current experience perfectly. Even Sam’s nodding along to the incessant beat.

But Cas is starting to look… _nervous_? He keeps throwing glances at the sky and has a small wrinkle between his brows. “Dammit, Angel! Now’s not the time to freak out!” Dean shouts. His calm is dependant on Cas being confident in what he’s doing.

Cas grins in response without looking at Dean. He nods and floors the gas pedal again, leaving the pursuiters in the dust. He keeps the speed as high as possible for a couple of minutes. They’re driving by the waterfront now, on the opposite side of the city. Between them and the dock, there are buildings, a train track and another road. There’s a bridge coming up before them, going over the road they’re currently on. Cas yells “Hold on!” and slams on the breaks. The seat belt digs in painfully in Dean’s chest and the car screeches. It takes about 500 meters for the car to almost come to a stop and then they’re under the bridge. “Brace yourselves!” Cas shouts and makes a sharp turn, sending them over the slope by the side of the road. The car is not built for off-road driving and jars them with every bounce. Dean bites his tongue and sees stars. He feels Cas make another screeching turn as they reach the bottom of the slope. He gets his eyesight back at the same time Cas cuts the engine.

_”...Getting what I want, boy. Why does that make you so mad?..._ ” it’s the last lingering tone that ring out before the speaker system dies. Dean’s mouth tastes of blood and the silence is thunderous after all the recent noise. They’re parked behind the broad pillar of the bridge and hopefully, _hopefully_ , won’t be spotted by cars from above. Cas unfastens his seatbelt and sinks down in the seat, staring up at the road with tense concentration. Dean hears Sam do the same from behind and follows their lead. His heart is beating fast again, pounding like a drum in his ears. They’re waiting for the police to catch up and _dear-God-please- **not**_ -notice them as they drive past up above.

”I spotted a ferry down by the docks and a sign announcing it will leave in a few minutes. We should be on it. If we can’t make that one there’s a train station up ahead and a bus stop some way back,” Cas says hushedly. “You can go ahead. I need to wipe the evidence from this car. I won’t let you get caught.”

”No way we’re leaving you, Angel. We’re all in, okay?” Dean protests in an equally hushed voice. Of course, the police won’t hear them. But the suspense prompts silence.

”Yeah. And there’s cleaning gear here in the back,” Sam offers silently.

”There is?” Dean perks up at that and twists to lean back and look at the stuff on the floor by Sam’s feet. His stomach lurches in excitement. There is car gear like wax and brake fluid along with chlorine, degreaser, acetone, sponges, wipes, and a small bucket. “Jackpot!”

Then they hear the sirens fast approaching and all of them freeze. They’re partially hidden where they’re parked. It should be enough. They can barely see the road from down here so hopefully they won’t be seen either. They keep still in case motions would bring attention that otherwise would slip by. Dean’s buzzing with anticipation. Sam has a treasure at his feet and Cas has given him a reason to dig into it. He’s raring to go.

Four police cars whiz by above and Cas starts moving. “Hold still. One more to go,” Dean says, stilling Cas with a hand. There were five cars chasing them.

Less than a minute later the fifth car drives by above and Dean springs into action. “Sam, get all that stuff out of the car so I can look at it. Cas, look around if you can find anything to get some of the fuel out of the engine with. We’re not going to clean this girl, we’re going to burn her,” he says humming with excitement as he gets out of the car.

”Dean. If we light her on fire and make a run for it people will take notice.” Cas protests. “They won’t think it odd for three men running to catch a ferry or a train about to leave. But three men running from a fire will be suspicious.” Cas gets out of the car with a concerned squinty look at Dean. Sam, however, is already following instructions without question.

Dean sniggers and gives Cas a wink. “Don’t worry, babe. By the time she catches fire we’ll be long gone. Trust me. _This_ , I know how to do.” (Did he just call Cas “babe”? Huh.) He pops the hood. “Angel, gimme your gloves, this sweetheart is still hot and I don’t want to burn myself.” Cas hesitates and Dean looks up and scowls at him in annoyance. “Dammit, Cas! I told you to trust me. We ain’t got time for this shit. Gimme your fuckin’ gloves!”

This time Cas does obey, albeit reluctantly. He tries to hide his knuckles under his sleeves when he hands the gloves over. Dean quenches a flare of anger. After all this, he’s still trying to cover up what he did yesterday? So much for wanting them to ‘know all of him’. Now’s not the time to argue about it, though. Dean puts the gloves on, takes his pocketknife out of his pocket and gets to work on making the engine a fire hazard.

”Cas. Look what I found!” Sam says. Dean doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He trusts Sam to know what Dean wants them to do. Sure enough. “So get this. We’ll use this piece of hose to get gas from the tank and drench the car’s interior with it.” Whether or not Cas could figure that out by himself is a moot point. As long as they keep working. Obviously, Sam found a hose (some lucky star is shining upon them) and soon the smell of gasoline permeates the air. Dean’s heart is thumping happily in his chest. He mourns the fact that they can’t stay to watch her burn. It doesn’t take away from his excitement, though.

He slams the hood shut, goes to roll down the car windows a notch to make sure his fire will get oxygen enough. Sam and Cas have filled the bucket with gas and are now dosing the back seat. Dean sings a medley of songs under his breath while he works. “ _...Because when I, arrive, I, I'll bring the fire. Make you come, alive, I can take you higher…I just gotta get you off the cage, I'm a young lover's rage, Gonna need a spark to ignite...I keep givin' you the fire. I'mma heat it up, under my control... Here's the night that you've been waiting on.. Fire, I'mma light it up. Gotta make it hot. This stage is mine, let's set it up... So light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... Light 'em up, up, up... I'm on fire!_ ”

Sam gives him guarded looks while Dean distributes all the cleaning chemicals as he sees fit. Dean ignores it. He knows Sam is uncomfortable with his passion for fire. Let him be. They need to get rid of the evidence, right? Right. It’s a crying shame he can’t make this girl explode. It’s notoriously hard to do without actual explosives, whatever movies try to convince you of. But he can make her flare hot and intense and that’s close enough. Everything but the chlorine and brake fluid goes into making sure the fire will be hungry and wild. Cas and Sam dose the front seat with gas too. “Alright. You guys start walking towards the ferry and I’ll catch up. The ignition will be delayed but not with very much so better get a head start,” he commands. This is his field of expertise after all. 

Cas and Sam obey him and start walking away, Sam tugging Cas along. In the meantime, he sets up his starting point for the fire. It’s really simple. Chlorine reacts with brake fluid. The reaction causes heat to build, there’s a delay at first, but once the heat starts building it doesn’t take long until it gets hot enough to melt its container and turn into fire. Now the backside of this is that the smoke it produces is extremely toxic. It will blister any mucus membranes it comes in contact with and if it doesn’t kill you it will scar. You’ll lose eyesight if it comes in contact with your eyes. You’ll lose your ability to smell if it comes in contact with the inside of your nose. And if you get it inside of your lungs you’ll get blisters there, leading you to either die from drowning or losing lung capacity for life by the scarring if you survive.

He only uses one starting point. He places the container with chlorine strategically inside the car where it’ll set fire to the gasoline-drenched interior. All the flammables will do the rest of the work. He takes off Cas’ gloves and ditches them in the car in an ill-tempered fit about the lies they represent. Then he pours some brake fluid into the chlorine container and shuts the car door, legging it after his companions.

He catches up to them down by the ferry where they’re trying to stall it from leaving. Cas has put on the hoodie he stole (it’s too big for him) and Sam’s wearing Cas’ sunglasses. They’re in luck. _Again._ As soon as Dean is there they board and the ferry leaves port. They take up a place by the railing, watching the foot of the bridge tensely. The car can’t be seen from here. At least not until they’ve come a bit further out on the water. That’s when a tall pillar of fire erupts with a whoosh. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He barely manages to withhold an exhilarated whoop. Fuck! He wishes he could be closer. People on the ferry start crowding around them by the railing, pointing towards the fire by the bridge and talking about explosions. It wasn’t an explosion, it was just a very large flare of fire. But to a layman, the interpretation is often the same.

Dean turns his head and meets the gaze of Sam and Cas. Both of their faces are fucking glowing, Sam’s with wonder, Cas’ with heat. The sound of a chopper makes them look at the sky. “There she is,” Cas says. “I was wondering when she was going to join us.”

Sam laughs and looks back at the fire. “That’s what had you freaking out?” Dean asks.

”I wasn’t ‘ _freaking out_ ’, as you say. I was merely being concerned about our chances for escape getting slimmer,” Cas says vexedly while aggressively doing air quotes.

”Look. You could just _not_ have teased the cops, to begin with, and that wouldn’t have been a problem,” Sam says, but he’s grinning, so there’s no sting in the remark.

They fall silent as more people crowd up against them to watch the pillar of dark smoke rise from the flames. The car is in plain view from where they are now. Fuck. The fire is so beautiful. If only he was _closer._ His heart swells happily. He’s still riding the rush of being alive. “That was… that was…” he starts to say, groping for words to express himself without making bystanders suspicious. Cas grabs his hand and puts it against his crotch. Cas is rock hard. It sends a jolt of excitement through Dean’s body. “Yeah. Yeah, it was,” he answers and gives Cas’ dick a little squeeze. He quickly looks around. Nobody is paying attention, not even Sam on Castiel’s other side. Heart beating faster he places himself behind Cas, chest pressed tightly against Cas’ back, boxing him in against the railing. His breath tickles Cas’ neck and he’s pleased to note that Cas gets goosebumps and shivers. Under the cover of Cas’ bulky hoodie, he unbuttons Cas’ jeans and slips his hand inside of Cas’ boxers.

Cas goes tense all over and almost manages to cover the sound of his sharp intake of breath. His cock twitches as Dean closes his hand around it. He feels warm, hard, velvety smooth, and leaks precome against the heel of Dean’s palm. “Now it’s your turn to be quiet for me, baby,” Dean whispers with a small smirk. Cas makes a short small nod looking out over the water.

Dean strokes up and down slowly, as not to alert the people crowding against them what’s really going on. For all the world it just looks like he is holding his boyfriend against the railing. Not that that can’t be perceived as provocative enough. Sam might not know what Dean is doing, but he has puffed up and stands like a protective wall by their shoulders (thankfully _not_ by the arm Dean has shoved down Cas’ pants) with an expression daring anyone to comment on Dean’s show of affection. Dean huffs a little chuckle by Cas’ ear, making the man shiver again. If Sam knew what he’s really doing, he’d throw a fit. It’s kind of cute how protective his kid brother is of them. Especially considering how much he's worried about Sam’s reaction to him making his feelings known. 

Cas makes a breathy little sound and Dean stops thinking about Sam. He locks his gaze on the fire and whispers in Cas’ ear as he keeps stroking. His lips brush the shell with every word. “If I could, I’d bend you over the hood and fuck you ‘til you scream, while the world is ablaze around us. Fuck. You’d look so fucking good in the light of the fire, Angel. All soaked in sweat and fucking begging for it.” The thought of doing that makes Dean hard. His erection rubs uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans and he has to fight not to buck his hips when he feels Cas’ clench his ass cheeks. Cas self-control is masterful. Dean can feel him trembling slightly, his breath shallow and light, and his cheeks are pink and heated against Dean’s. Yet apart from the blush that could be explained by sunburn or running to the ferry, none of it shows. Just by looking at him you’d never know his cock is hard enough to cut diamonds and steadily leaking precome that lubricates Dean’s discreet strokes. “Flames high around us, I’d hold you down by your neck and fuck you like an animal.” It’s not like Dean doesn’t know how unrealistic his current dirty talk is. Of course, you can’t fuck somebody over the hood of a burning car. But _fuck_ if the idea of doing it isn’t like the greatest sex fantasy ever. He hasn’t talked about any fire-related fantasies with anyone before, apart from suggesting making love by a bonfire or a fireplace. That’s natural, right? Romantic. _Right?_ Right. Girls seem to think so and that’s good enough for him. But Cas is fucking _insane_ , so why not let his words flow freely despite how messed up they may sound. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Dean isn’t expecting a reply. Yet when it comes he has to bite his lip not to groan. 

“ _Yes._ ”

One word spoken rougher than usual with Cas silk-gravel voice and it’s fucking _magic_ , sending swoops of joyous excitement through Dean’s body. He increases the pace of his strokes despite the lessening discretion of it and whispers roughly the only word he can think of as a reply. “ _Mine._ ” Cas goes rigid, making a tiny punched out sound, and spurts hotly into Dean’s hand. Dean milks him through it until he makes a little whimpering sound and twitches, indicating oversensitivity has set in. “Fuck, Angel. You’re so hot.” Cas ability to keep a straight face is impressive. Apart from the flushed cheeks, nobody would suspect the guy just came in his pants. But now Dean has another problem, namely a handful of jizz. The natural thing would be to let Cas lick it off, or do it himself and enjoy the payoff of Cas trying to kiss it out of his mouth. In this setting? Not such a good idea.

Cas chuckles and turns his head to look back at Dean with a raised eyebrow à la ‘ _Really? You’re doing that?_ ’ when Dean dries his hand off on Cas’ stomach, all along the happy trail. Dean gives him a cheeky grin in response then helps him button up his jeans again. He doesn’t envy Cas for the mess in his pants (and on his stomach). It’s going to be very uncomfortable later on. The car is out of view now and firetrucks can be heard. The chopper is still circling around the bridge area, searching for them. _Good luck with that._ All in all, Dean thinks they got away with it, so it’s good. Plus now maybe he can present some of his more realistic fantasies to Cas. Who knows? Maybe the weird fucker will indulge him. Maybe having a mad boyfriend is a good thing?

* * *

A while later they’re at McDonald's eating when Cas’ too long sleeves ride up to uncover his hands when he’s about to take a bite of his burger. “Holy Shit, Cas. What happened?” Sam asks wide eyes trained on Cas’ knuckles. It isn’t a pretty sight. They’re swollen, mottled red and blue, and have a few nasty cuts on them. Cas goes rigid and looks like a deer in the headlight, mouth hanging open frozen midway to bite into the burger.

”Cas here went stone cold berserk on Balt’s attackers,” Dean answers in Cas’ stead.

”Who told you?” Cas asks worriedly.

”Nobody told me, jackass, I _saw_ you,” he says irritably and turns to Sam. “Ain’t gonna lie. That was some seriously fucked up shit he did back there.”

Cas lowers his burger and seems to shrink in on himself, eyes big and anxious, sporting a kicked puppy look that easily rivals Sam’s.

”Luce said the retribution was unsatisfactory…” Sam says.

” _Pffft_! Trust creepy fucker douchenozzle to say that.” Dean looks around to see if there’s anyone within hearing range, then leans close to Sam to talk more hushedly. “Cas fucking snapped the neck of one of them and then proceeded to beat the living crap out of the other. Literally. As in not alive anymore. Can’t imagine how Luci would consider that unsatisfactory.”

”Holy shit. Really?” Sam says, eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline as he looks at Cas. Cas, who shrink in on himself even more at the scrutiny.

”Really. And you,” Dean says turning back towards Cas, pointing accusingly with a french fry. “I’m pissed off at you. You should have fucking told me. All that bullshit talk about trust, and wanting us to know you? Then you try to hide this? Fuck you. I’m your goddamn boyfriend, I deserve to know shit like this, okay? That shit you did? It ain’t no fucking game. Do that in the wrong state and you got yourself a death sentence. And in other states? Fuck, Angel. What am I supposed to do if you end up serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole? Come talk to you through a fucking glass wall with a fucking phone while guards stare us down? I don’t think so, Cas.” Dean’s gathering momentum now, letting words flow freely. “I need, no. _We_ ,” he gestures between himself and Sam with the french fry, “need to know, so we can cover your ass should shit hit the fan. That was fucked up, Cas. I don’t care. You’re not the only one who’s messed up. Before yesterday I never thought you might be someone who’d show up in the middle of the night asking for help to hide a body. But if you do, I’d help you, okay?”

”We both would,” Sam interjects seriously.

”But you need to. _fucking. trust. us._ ” Without meaning to, his rant had turned more into exposing his fear of losing Cas rather than anything else. That was _not_ the point he’d planned to address when he brought this up.

”So… You saw me. ...And you still want to be with me…?” Cas looks on the brink between trepidation and hope.

”Hell yeah. You’re mine, remember?”

Cas deflates with relief. “I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me if you found out.”

”It takes more to drive us Winchesters away once you’re part of the family, Cas,” Sam says with an encouraging smile. Dean hopes he’d still say that if he’d actually _seen_ Cas. 

”Thank you. I-I don’t know what to say…”

Dean cuffs Cas on the back of the head. “Don’t be a fucking sap about it. Just tell me about it next time, okay? Now eat your burger. Freak.” _Next time?_ There is an obvious glitch between his brain and his mouth.

Cas chuckles, he radiates relief and happiness. But he nods and goes on eating.

Later they follow Cas to the hotel to get changed for his interview. At the last minute Dean throws himself into the cab with Cas to follow him to the studio. His parting words to Sam is “Don’t wait up.” He doesn’t plan to return to their motel room tonight. There’s got to be some perks to being open about his and Cas' relationship, and spending the night in Cas’ hotel room is sure as hell gonna be one!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in Dean's medley are: let it rock- Kevin Rudolf/my songs know what you did in the dark - fall out boy/Fire - Camp Rock/my songs know what you did in the dark - fall out boy.
> 
> Artemis Entreri is an assassin (evil), and Drizzt is a drow/dark elf ranger (good) in a series of Forgotten Realms fantasy books by R. A. Salvatore.
> 
> I'd like to ask you a favour concerning the next chapters. You see, parts are already written, _but_ , they put problems under spotlight that will not be resolved until the sequel. If I do write a sequel. Seriously. This is a long ass story already. It won't affect the outcome of this story and will happen whether you see it or not. Should I leave those parts out? Or do you want them included? FYI, it's Samifer scenes we're talking about. Please, tell me what you think.


	72. Pulse and Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam knocks on Lucifer's door after he's parted with Cas and Dean. Dean is watching Castiel's interview at a bar opposite the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No warnings for this chapter**
> 
> **NOTES:** This chapter is something of a bridge to the next ones. Oh. And as usual I work with different POVs. The opinions about different things stands for the characters in question. They have skewey world views at times. Why am I even saying this? Yall know it already, right? This and the upcoming chapters were all written as one effing long chapter so that reminder covers everything. Right.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**SHARE WITH ME, SAMMY**

* * *

Two days before the derby

* * *

The knock comes again and this time Luci doesn’t ignore it. He gets up from the couch where he’s been lounging in his sweatpants and a tee and goes to answer the door. He’s pleasantly surprised to find Sam shuffling and looking at his feet outside. “Sammy?”

Sam looks up. There’s something slightly haunted in his eyes. “Hi. Um… Can I come in?”

”Of course,” Luci says and takes a step to the side.

Sam comes inside. The moment Luci shuts the door he begins to talk. “So get this, we met Cas outside the hotel, right? And he was acting really weird, like he wasn’t happy to see us. Then he tells us that we’d better not come along because we might not like what he’s up to. But he says he wants us with him too, right? So we, and I mean me and Dean, come along anyway. He’s a friend. He’s more than that. He’s family, you know? And then…” Sam paces back and forth, gesturing to accentuate and stopping frequently to look at Luci to make sure he’s listening. He tells Luci about the small thefts and then how they came upon the car and how Cas stole it. Luci listens with his arms crossed and his head tilted to his side. When Sam comes to the part in the story where Cas’ chicken raced the police car Luci has to close his eyes, bend his head down and pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. Cas could be the perfect soldier, following orders and think creatively. But apparently, left to his own devices he could be reckless as hell. He’s more than a little annoyed at Cas for putting Sam in danger, though the way Sam has started to glow with held back excitement while he’s talking about their joyride― _especially_ the part about the chicken race―makes it necessary to consider exactly what to do about it. Castiel has an addiction as real as if he were hooked on heroin. Luci had seen it bubble under the surface for quite some time. Michael had been the same. Cas will always have the itch whether he himself realises it or not. (Luci doesn’t think Cas _does_ realise it.) That doesn’t bother Lucifer in general, not since he found out what it is. It could be kept in check and sated. But when he drags Sam along with him searching for the kick? And Sam likes it? Then it’s a problem.

Sam goes on to tell about Dean burning the car. Luci interjects a question of methods that Sam can’t answer. Luci will have to ask Dean about it at some point. It’s not important in this situation by all means, not if the car burned as merrily as Sam tells him. It’s more a question of cataloguing his assets to be able to put them to good use should need arise. And Dean will be a very valuable asset when the time comes. “...Oh, oh. And-and now Dean throws around the word ‘boyfriend’ like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And yesterday you left out the part where Cas _killed_ Balt’s attackers. You just forgot to mention that little detail, now did you?” Sam directs a high powered bitchface towards Luci.

Luci feels amused affection warm his chest at Sam’s rebuke. ”It wasn’t necessary information. Besides, they were coined, so the problem was taken care of.”

Sam snorts.”That coin thing comes in mighty handy. How do you even know that it works?” Luci has explained the coin system briefly the day he told Sam about the _Porodica_. Sam had been more interested in the more intricate coded systems of communication and cataloguing they use internet for, than the field operative methods.

”It’s part of the Croatoan security system and our... investments... in law enforcement. It works. In a city like this one where we have a strong hold on the police, it works as soon as evidence is gathered. In some parts of the world, where corruption is much more widespread we could have just put the coin straight into the hand of a policeman. Here,” Luci shrugs and pulls down the corners of his mouth while raising his eyebrows, “the evidence will be corrupted or disappear. If you want to find out exactly who takes care of it I will get the information for you. The important part is that whoever did a coined offence doesn’t face consequences for it.”

”How do you know it isn’t misused? Anyone who knows about it may take advantage of it.”

”I suspect it happens once in awhile. It’s hardly a bother.” Luci makes a dismissive gesture and walks up to Sam to put a hand on his shoulder. “So, Sammy. How do you feel about all this?”

”It’s wrong, Luce. And somebody could have gotten hurt.”

”That’s what you _think_. I asked what you feel.”

Sam opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, swallows, and looks down at his feet. “We shouldn’t be doing things like this if it isn’t necessary to survive.” His shoulder slump. He radiates guilt. 

The corner of Luci’s lip tug in an amused smirk. Sam’s idealistic nature comes into play and clashes with his feelings like so often before. He raises the hand he’d rested on Sam’s shoulder and strokes Sam’s cheekbone softly. He wants to hear Sam say it. What he really felt. “How did it make you feel, Sammy?”

Sam looks up and meets his gaze. He swallows again. When he speaks, it’s quiet, as if confessing a sin. “Powerful. ...I felt powerful. And free.”

A sense of fierce satisfaction blooms hotly in Luci’s ribcage. There’s just something about Sam in power that gets to Luci. The sense of freedom Sam had today made a lot of sense. Sam’s good-hearted and idealistic, and as such bound by tons of inhibitions. One might argue that feeling powerful in a situation where―by all appearance―control had been stripped from him, doesn’t make sense. But Sam has a history of by impulse leave himself in someone else’s control (Lucifer’s) and taking risks he shouldn’t, by his own choice. Cas had repeatedly given Sam and Dean the choice to back out, according to Sam’s story and thus in a slightly skewed way left Sam in control. The feeling of power came from losing the shackles of his exasperating ideals, his inhibitions. Sam with his strength and his exuberant glow of light is made to hold power. He both loves to and deserves it. The only drawback is how guilty Sam feels about _enjoying_ power. Luci just has to get that out of him. Sam wielding power always gives Luci the same hot flare in his chest. He’s watched Sam from afar so often. Seen how he manipulated Brady and made the other boy dance like a puppet on a string. Seen girls swoon and be ignored or get to bask in Sam’s glory for a moment or two. The satisfaction it gave Luci is nameless. He has no words to describe how it makes him feel. Something akin to how people described sexual arousal and want, except the feeling is centered in his chest and head―his crotch had nothing to do with it. Maybe more like how you feel when you are parched and get to drink, or starved for days and finally got to eat. Luci does not let these feelings show. Instead, he strokes along the perfect line of Sam’s jaw. Sam’s stubble is surprisingly long. Luci wonders if he’s growing a beard. Sam closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “Good. Now, Sammy. What do you need? You were in a life and death situation. It’s common to feel the need to celebrate life after that. Do you want sex? Should I send for a couple of girls for you?”

Sam’s eyes fly open and he scowls at Luci as if he’d been insulted. “No! I just wanted to see you, asshole.”

Luci sniggers. “Very well. You are seeing me. What do you want to do? Are you hungry? We can order room service. The chefs at this hotel are very talented. Or we can go out to eat if, you’d prefer.”

”We had McDonald's earlier, but truthfully? I could eat. Didn’t really get much food in me after I found out about Cas killing those guys. And order room service sounds great. I’d like if we could just, I dunno, chill together?”

”So be it. Make yourself at home. I’ll go order for us.”

Luci leaves Sam in the other room and goes into the bedroom to make the call. Before he calls room service he makes another call to a _Porodica_ related contact, ordering them to check up whether or not the police has any leads on the car theft. After that, he orders champagne, a bloody steak for himself and a number of courses for Sam, but scaled down portions so he can try everything he wants. He also orders wine for the food and some dessert.

The champagne arrives nearly at once. Sam’s grin is big and his eyes are sparkling. “What are we celebrating?” he asks as Luci opens the champagne with a small fizz that doesn’t spill or shoot the cork away, and pours them a glass each.

”Life,” Luci answers and sits down on the couch, drawing one leg up on the seats along the backrest and leaning back on the armrest languidly, the other leg still firmly planted on the floor. He hopes Sam can see the invite for what it is. His heart always speeds up in these instants. The ‘ _will he or won’t he_ moment’. Still, after all these years the feeling of anticipation is the same despite Sam never once having disappointed him. He doesn’t this time either. Sam sits down on the couch and slots himself between Luci’s legs, resting his back against Luci’s chest like he was made to fit there. It floods Luci with a sense of wonder and contentment. A warm tingly feeling of rightness. He has more affection for Sam than his body can contain. This is what he forsook his family for. What makes the upcoming war worth it. He has no doubt that he’ll end up having to kill his own brothers to keep this. It’s a sacrifice that weighs more heavily on him than he cares to admit. Sam has him wrapped around a finger. He hopes Sam never realises this. That nobody does.

Sam’s hair tickles Luci’s nose. Sam clinks their glasses together, head turned to look up at Luci. “To life,” he says with a smile and takes a sip. 

Luci follows his example, hoping the champagne will help calm his rapid pulse. It doesn’t. Alcohol doesn’t work that way for him. He should not indulge in it at all. “Share with me, Sam.”

”What do you want to know?”

Luci hums and purses his lips in thought. He wants to know _everything_. “Tell me a good childhood memory. From when your father was alive.”

”Okay. I was eight, Dean twelve. Dad had taken us on a fishing trip. He had rented or borrowed a cabin for the week. The first morning I woke up, dad was sitting on the porch feeding squirrels. He had this little smile on his face and looked so happy and relaxed. I rarely saw him like that. The squirrels were eating out of his hand, right? One of them sitting on his shoulder grooming. He could even pet them. It was really cool but they fled when I approached.” As Sam talks Luci pictures it. The inquisitive little runt Sam was back then, how John had been during his good periods when his PTSD was dormant and the man was his true self. Luci sips the champagne and rests his cheek against the crown of Sam’s head, letting the words wash over him painting a picture. “So dad told me he used to do this with grandpa before grandpa went MIA. He was a soldier too, by the way. Anyway, dad showed me that you have to be quiet and move slowly not to scare them. First, we just threw nuts close to us, then closer, until they started to be bolder. Then after a while, they’d dart in and take a nut out of my palm. The second morning they stayed and ate directly out of my hand and it was awesome.” Sam grins and chuckles at the memory he sees on replay in his head while sipping his drink. “The second morning Dean joined us. Dean doesn’t have much patience for sitting still and be quiet.”

”I can imagine.”

”But it didn’t matter. He was determined to feed the squirrels too. So he took a bunch of nuts and went over to the opposite side of the clearing outside the cabin. He sat down and began to eat the nuts, all the while chatting with the squirrels, gesturing with the nuts.” Sam makes his best Dean-impression. “ _Hey buddy, you want this? I don’t get what the fuss is about. They’re not_ that _good. Have you tried popcorn? I think you’d like caramel popcorn. ‘Ts a bit too sweet for my taste but since y’all bein’ so fuzzy and cute I bet you’ve got a sweet tooth to match. Hey, don’t be like that! You wanna have sum of these you come an’ get it yerself._ ” Sam grins broadly. “The squirrels chittered at him like they didn’t quite know what to make of him. He threw them the occasional nut and held out his hand in offer once in a while. But you know, it worked too, right? They came. And since he’d been so loud and moved so much they didn’t spook as easily once they did come around. That whole week was great. We fed the squirrels every morning together. Dad didn’t have a single episode or bad dream. He taught Dean how to cook the fish we caught during the day and we roasted marshmallows and stuff and looked at the stars at night. Dad knew, like, every bird by its call and pointed them out to us. We even saw an owl that week. I didn’t want to go back home…”

The knock on the door announces the arrival of their food. Too soon for Luci’s taste. He’d rather stay like this, feel the warmth of Sam’s body against his and hear Sam tell him of everything and nothing. Alone with Sam, it’s like a dome of glass is descends over them, silencing the noise of the world, stopping time and making the air easier to breathe. Nevertheless, they get up. Luci tips the server who brings the food and dismisses him. They move to the table where Luci pours them wine and sets up the food. He’s ordered the kind of courses Sam tends to favour. Lots of vegetables, seafood, chicken fillet and generally to be considered healthy food. To be honest, he is a bit concerned about Sam’s dietary choices. As "healthy" as it may seem, it doesn’t equal the amount of energy Sam spends. Not with all the time he spent in the gym and hockey practice. Add to that, that Sam’s still young and growing (though no longer upwards) it puts a strain on his body it doesn’t need. That’s why Luci had ordered multiple courses for Sam. To entice the younger man to eat more without reflecting on doing so. The smaller portions are deceiving. It proves to work too. Sam eats with a healthy appetite and bemoans the rich combination of tastes. Luci takes more pleasure in Sam’s enjoyment than he does in his own excellent meal. Sam tells him more pleasant childhood memories. Prevalent in all of them is Dean.

* * *

**THE MYSTERY LADY**

* * *

Dean’s sitting at the bar opposite the studio where Cas is doing his interview. Apparently, this was supposed to be Balt’s gig, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t do it and since Cas is the media’s darling it falls upon him to do it instead. The Angels’ owners are adamant to get as much media exposure as possible. Cas hates it but you couldn’t tell by watching him on TV. Dean sips his whiskey and watches the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. He can’t decide if it’s scary or awesome that Cas can look so blasé considering that he was involved in a high-speed car chase just hours prior. Unlike most of his teammates, Cas doesn’t receive many hockey related questions.

* * *

”A couple of months ago you were seen dating Bree McKenna. The rumour has it that you two started up a romance after that and that’s why you haven’t been seen in the dating scene since then. Is there any truth to this?”

Cas’ lips curl up into a secret little smile and he leans back in the purple armchair. “Bree is exquisitely beautiful, engaging, and intelligent. She is fun, driven, and interesting. On top of that―as the Oscar Academy took note of too―she is very talented. _But_ , alas, my heart is lost to someone who outshines even her. So no. There’s no truth to that rumour.”

The host looks a bit surprised. “Oh? That must be one special lady you got your eyes on. Few outshine miss Bree,” the host says. Cas doesn’t answer. He tilts his head and squints at the host, a little line forming between his brows, like the host just said something very odd and he’s trying to make sense of it.

* * *

Dean’s stomach is once again the gathering place for exhilarated butterflies. They should have talked about this, but they hadn’t. He wonders what Cas will say. If Cas will out them. He’s nervous about it, but fuck it. Whatever happens, happens. Right? And _holy hell_. Cas is wearing a fucking black pinstriped waistcoat and a red tie. How is that so sexy? When did men’s clothing become as alluring as Victoria’s Secret lingerie?

* * *

When Cas just lets the silence linger the host seems to realise a question is in order. “So can you tell us something about this mysterious lady you’ve lost your heart to?”

”You are making assumptions. Not very professional if I may say so,” Cas says disdainfully and carries on talking before the nonplussed host can ask what he means. “But yes. I can tell you about this individual.” Cas smiles almost shyly and looks down at his hand, studying his nails. “Rarely do you meet a person who can light up a room so completely just by entering it. The word that most frequently comes to mind as a description for my sweetheart is _wildfire_. Untamed, beautiful, spirited, passionate, _hot_.” Cas face takes on a dreamy, goofy expression. “There are so many good qualities to this person. Generosity, intelligence, courage, and warmth. All hidden away behind cocky bluster.” Cas heaves a happy little sigh.

”Sounds like you’re quite smitten,” the host says.

Cas nods and looks towards the camera with an impish look. “Yes. As it was foretold, I have well and truly fallen.” He winks at the camera and turns his attention back to the host.

”A lot of hearts are gonna to be breaking because of that piece of news. Can you reveal the name of the mystery lady?”

Castiel’s head tilts to the left and his brows draw together in a very squinty frown. His whole demeanor screams that he’s aggravated. He’s looking at the host as if he just asked an insultingly stupid question and hadn’t been listening _at all_. “No,” he says with finality after a beat or two, long enough for the host to start squirming uncomfortably while trying to hide confusion about why Cas suddenly turned cold.

* * *

Dean laughs giddily. Damned if he’s not impressed that Cas managed to say all those things about him, without actually saying Dean’s a he or confirming that they’re together. Even if you have to be totally clueless not to get the reference to Dean’s challenge all those months ago. (Or Dean thought so at least.) And the things Cas said―on live TV no less―has all these feelings bubbling up inside of him. The kind of feelings that makes you spontaneously burst out singing and dancing. (He holds that impulse in check, though.)

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got multiple chapters written and they will be posted within the next 24 hours. Sorry you had to wait for it. The greatest spotlight will be on Samifer for the upcoming chapters. Right now I'm editing them and rearranging them.


	73. Mood swings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the interview Cas comes to the bar where Dean is waiting. The past is nothing to worry about, right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**A BLAST FROM THE PAST**

* * *

Two days before the derby

* * *

”You look fucking sizzling in that getup, Angel,” Dean says and pulls Cas close by sticking his fingers in Castiel’s front pockets and tugging.

Cas arms wind around him and he leans his forehead against Dean’s shoulder sighing in relief to finally be done. “Thanks. You look, as you say, ‘sizzling’ in anything you wear,” he counters, a smile carrying over to his voice.

”True,” Dean concedes cockily and kisses Cas on the temple. “You did good. I watched the interview.”

Cas groans and straightens up so he can look at Dean. His eyes are a greyish blue at the moment and he makes an annoyed face. “The host is a bloody maggot. A slimy disgusting lowlife. It’s insulting to _maggots_ to compare the two. He’s a detestable bloody presumptuous _twat_.”

Dean laughs at Castiel’s vehemence. “Aww. Poor baby. You didn’t like that he kept insisting I was a lady, huh? Hell, I thought it was funny.”

Cas snorts. “No, I did not like that. Nor do I appreciate the fact that they are so nosy about my private life. Whom I love is my business. At least until you grant me the rights to declare that I belong to you and you are firmly off the market.”

”So what you’re saying is that you’re pissy at the reporters cuz you ain't got the braggin’ rights?” Dean teases cheekily. He’s giddy and bubble-headed. Hearing Cas say he belongs to Dean and loves him makes his stomach drop in a _good_ way and his breath to want to catch in his throat.

”Essentially, yes. That appears to be the predominant objection I have to their questions about my love life,” Cas agrees with a self-deprecating little smile.

”Yeah, well, thanks for not outing me on television.” Dean kisses the side of Cas’ neck, thrilled at the sight of goosebumps forming.

”I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it if I did. A word of advice, though, if you want to avoid being outed, you should not be doing that in the open,” Cas says and leans his head to the side, baring his neck to grant Dean better access. “Especially not here. The likeliness of a reporter stopping by for an after-work beer is sky high.”

”I’m not sure how I’d feel about it either. But if you think I’m gonna keep my paws off you after those things you said about me, you’re wrong. Fuck ‘em. Fuck all of ‘em.” He nibbles lightly on Cas’ earlobe, almost giggling when Cas sucks in an unstable breath.

”Excuse me, gentlemen,” the bartender’s voice intrudes, vying for their attention. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave. We don’t serve your kind here.”

Not even the little ember of anger that flares up inside of him can really derail Dean’s good mood. “Oh yeah? What kind is that? The extremely awesome kind? Or are you just intimidated by our good looks?”

The bartender makes a frustrated face. “I’m sorry. I am. But my boss… Guys, I don’t want to lose my job over this, okay? Just go somewhere else.”

The ember of anger is growing but Cas just grabs Dean’s wrist and tugs him towards the door without a word or a backward glance at the bartender. “You’re just gonna let people talk to you like that? Chase us off like some dirty bums or something?” Dean asks incredulously once outside.

”Did you pay for your drinks?”

”No…” 

”Good. Dee. I’d very much like a continuation of what you started in there. Possibly in the generously sized hot tub in my hotel room. Also, I need to get back to the hotel. Lucifer bid me stop by and report to him about this day’s activities. So the bartender’s rudeness was well timed and gave you an excuse for getting away with not paying. Unless... Do you want to fight him? We can go back in. I don’t mind.” By the look on Cas’ face, he would be more than happy to go in and raise some hell. But Dean’s interest lies with the hot tub idea and continuing to map out Cas with his mouth.

”Nah. Anything that entails you being naked sounds way more fun,” he grins and looks around to see if there’s any cab nearby. “The sooner the better.”

Cas gives him a big gummy smile. Again, an unfamiliar voice from behind Cas’ disturbs them. “ _Daan_? Daan de Vries, ben jij dat??” Cas face freezes for a second, then his whole posture and expression changes. He melts into some kind of arrogant slouch that teenagers with too high opinions of themselves have, and his face takes on an expression of bored, amused disdain. He turns around slowly to face the guy who had spoken. The guy, a good looking Asian guy, lights up at the sight of Cas. In two long strides, he’s up close and hugs Cas, getting a half-hearted pat on the back in return. “Joh, dat is wel heel lang geleden dat ik je voor het laatst heb gezien... Zo zo, jij ziet er echt goed uit! Hoe gaat het met je en wat doe je überhaupt hier???” the guy babbles. It sounds like gibberish to Dean and jealousy burns hot in his chest.

Cas lets go of the guy and steps back. “Jeroen, dit is mijn vriendje, Dean,” Cas says and takes Dean’s hand. He looks at Dean. “Dean, this is Jeroen. He’s―”

”I’m his ex,” the guy says and extends a hand. His face has fallen somewhat but he’s still smiling. “Nice to meet you. You’re a lucky man.”

_Yeah right. Real nice. You were hoping he was single. Well up yours, buddy._ Dean shakes his hand politely. “Uh-huh.” He can’t exactly say the same.

”It’s good to see you again, Jeroen. But I’m afraid we’re in a hurry and don’t have time chat,” Cas says and spots a cab. “I’m just gonna…” He doesn’t even finish the sentence before he wanders off to the street to try to hail the cab.

Dean almost feels sorry for the hurt he sees in the guy’s eyes at the stinging rejection. Jeroen claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Hold on hard to that one. He makes you think you mean the world to him and then he just leaves without a word of warning. Take care.” Then, with a little friendly wave, he walks off, giving Cas a salute as he passes him by. Cas returns it but shows no warmer feelings. The cab comes to a stop beside him and Cas gets into the back seat, motioning for Dean to come. Once inside the cab, Cas reverts into his ordinary posture again, giving the driver the address.

”Your ex, huh?” Dean asks.

Cas huffs. “Not even close. He was a mark. We were together for less than a week. I needed someplace to stay and wanted free access to the music festival he worked at. Hardly what I would call a relationship. I think he only said he was my ex because I introduced you as my boyfriend.”

”What language was that?”

”Dutch,” Cas answers and laces their fingers together.

”Huh… Cas, I don’t think he knew you weren’t in a relationship. Dude was a goner for you. Even I could see that.”

”Dean,” Cas says in a chastening tone of voice. “I was 21 at the time. It was a week at most. He doesn’t even know my real name. He thinks my name is Daan de Vries. You have no reason to be jealous. He meant nothing.” For some reason that is not comforting at all to Dean. “Besides, I never voluntarily let anyone mark me up and rarely consent to bottom. Not like with you.”

”Never? Not with anyone?” Dean persists. This is so stupid. One should never go digging in your partners’ exes. Dean _knows_ that. He should just let it rest. But Cas opens his mouth to answer and… _hesitates._ Fuck. “Who was he? Or she,” he demands, jumping to conclusions based on Castiel’s hesitation.

”Dean. It was a very long time ago,” Cas answers curtly and fingers the watch he is wearing. “He is no longer part of my life and never will be again. Please. Leave it be.”

_Oh yeah? But if you did let him have you and mark you up, why aren’t you still together?_ Not that Dean _minds_. But the thought worries Dean all the same. He tries to ignore it. Logic says it doesn’t matter, it’s in the past. Now logic, however, is not the main force that drives Dean. A nugget of insecurity lodges itself in his chest, threatening to pull him out of his generally good mood.

Cas obviously sense it and leans against him, puts his chin on Dean’s shoulder and looks at him with soft eyes and a tiny smile. “I was 19. That’s a long time ago. Please. Let dead things stay dead. Dee, I am totally honest when I say I have never felt about anyone like I feel about you. I love you more than I have words to describe. And right now I just want to go home and get you naked to end an almost perfect day. Can we do that?”

Dean’s heart flutters. Castiel’s eyes are almost cornflower blue now. Another shade to add to his ever-growing list of hues Cas’ eyes can take on. Who cares about past lovers anyway? Cas is his now and wants to tell the world about it. _And_ there’s a nice bath in their imminent future where he can get his Angel all lathered up. Dean lifts his hand and runs it through Castiel’s longish hair, kept in check by hair products. A mental image of Cas sitting in the bath with his back against Dean while Dean helps him wash his hair makes his giddy smile reappear. Sex is awesome and all but _that’s_ what Dean really wants to do now. That fluffy, sweet, dopey stuff you never get to do (or want to do) with one night stands. “Yeah, Angel. We can do that,” he says softly.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the Dutch spoken in this chapter. I didn't bother translating it because _Dean_ didn't understand it. But basically, what's said is something like this (Not word for word):  
>  "Daan? Daan de Vries, is that you??” -----“Dude. It's been really long since I last saw you. Wow, you look great! How are you and what are you doing here anyway???"


	74. The sins of our fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam spends some quality time with Luci, revisiting old memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS:**  
>  \- Mentions of past child abuse  
> \- Mentions of severe PTSD  
> \- Mentions of abuse of alcohol and prescription drugs  
> \- Mentions of the use of child soldiers  
> (I saw a documentary about that. It freaks me out, to be honest. So young children should not be used as soldiers.)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**WALK DOWN MEMORY LANE**

* * *

Two days before the derby

As ordered, Cas stopped by after his interview while they were eating dessert. He stood at attention and retold the events impassionately but with great detail and quoted what had been said verbatim. It matched Sam’s story perfectly. (Except Sam’s retelling had been as full of holes as it was full of passion in comparison.) Luci chose not to bring up the issue of Sam tagging along while Sam could hear. The last thing he needed was Sam becoming defiant by hearing Luci trying to dictate what he could and couldn’t do. He invited Cas to stay. Cas declined on the grounds of having Dean waiting in the bathtub in his hotel room.

”Wow. Cas is thorough. Can’t believe he remembers everything so in detail. But it still kinda sounded like a whole ‘nother event,” Sam says when Cas has left.

Luci hums. “Yes. It was a very emotionally loaded day for all of you and Cassie’s report lacked any emotional inflection.” 

Sam’s about to say something when the phone rings. Luci looks at the screen and holds up a finger. He gets up and goes into the bedroom to take the phone call. It’s the _Porodica_ contact in the city’s law enforcement. He reports that the car was totally burned out, likely impossible to find evidence in. The policemen in the squad car they’d chicken raced had not been able to give any descriptions of the perps. One had been squeezing his eyes shut and the driver had been so shocked he kept giving different descriptions. Even named one of the perps as black. Luci can’t believe the luck they’ve had. It’s almost unnatural. Well. Less clean up for him to do. He hears Sam’s soft footfalls on the floor behind him.

He’s aware Sam followed him into the bedroom. The push in the back when he hangs up the phone, however, comes as a surprise. He topples onto the bed, twisting his shoulder in the fall so his motion will automatically turn into a roll when he lands. But Sam captures his legs and yanks, clambering on top of him. He's partly twisted so he can see Sam’s playful grin, thus holds back on his defense. “Gotcha,” Sam says, challenging smile splitting his face, as he grabs a hold of Luci’s wrists.

Luci twists under Sam so he’s laying flat on his back, Sam sitting on his hips. Sam’s grip on his wrists is firm. “Oh, you think so, pup?” Luci grins back at him. He doesn’t give Sam time to answer before he throws his legs up, capturing Sam’s head by scissoring his ankles and pulling Sam backwards. The pendulum force takes his upper body with it as Sam falls back. He releases his grip with his legs before Sam lands but the move makes their positions reversed, with Luci straddling Sam. Luci tuts and gives Sam a mock pitying look. “Guess again, _Tyro_.”

Sam laughs. He’s glowing with the exuberance that drew Luci in all those years ago. It’s still there, intact, after everything Sam’s been through. And it makes Luci’s heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. As always he does his best to hide these reactions. Sam narrows his eyes slyly. That’s all the warning Luci gets before Sam heaves himself up and hooks an arm around Luci’s midriff. By putting his weight into the momentum he has Luci slammed down on the bed again, laughing. This sets off a game of play wrestling. Sam is tall, strong and heavy. He has basic technique, rusty by disuse, but it’s enough to lend him an honest chance when Luci isn’t really trying to subdue him. They’re laughing like ten-year-olds and trading taunting insults depending on who's on top. Luci notes that any time Sam is being held down and restrained, he shows signs of being turned on. He doesn’t act on it, though, so Luci ignores it in favour of enjoying the carefree game. No less than three times they end up falling onto the floor and the bed turns into a complete mess. 

They don’t stop until they are both sweaty and out of breath, stomach aching from laughing. Sam simply collapses over him after once again winning the top position. "We'll have to work on your stamina, Sammy. If this is all you got that's just pitiful, ” Lucifer teases. 

Sam laughs tiredly in the crook of Luci’s neck. "Yeah. We might have to do that." 

”I want you to learn self-defense. There might come a day when this is something you'll have to do to save your life. I'll have Cas train you when I can't do it myself. "

”Okay." Sam turns his head so he can look at Lucifer. ”Don't you ever stop? ” he asks. 

”Stop what?"

”I dunno. Thinking like a leader? Planning for the future. Being strategic?” Sam sits up and looks around for the pillows, most of which have ended up on the floor during their rough and tumble. 

Lucifer hums thoughtfully. It’s not something he’s never reflected over. "I thought I just did," he answers as Sam gets out of bed and starts collecting the wayward pillows, throwing them to Luci who catches them and arranges them back into place. He hasn't had a single thought about anything else than here and now with Sam during their playtime. 

”Bullshit,” Sam says as he crawls back onto the bed and lays down beside Lucifer again. A little smile takes the sting out of the word. He lies on his side, supporting his head on a hand. "You were measuring my skills during the whole time. Don’t pretend you didn’t." He looks at Luci, eyes full of curiosity. 

”Of course I was. Hard not to, when you're being attacked by a 6'4 puppy, don't you think?” He winks at Sam who grins at him in response. “And everyone thinks about the future. Don’t you?” 

”Well, yeah. But not like that. I think about what I want. Live in a big house with Dean and our respective families. I want a dog or two. Maybe travel. But I don’t constantly think about how to get there. But you... 'ts like you got an endgame to everything you do. Everything serves a purpose."

Does it? Luci isn’t sure he agrees. Not when he’s with Sam or Cas. Or even Balt. Not on a conscious level at least. He’s raised to think like that. It’s part of who he is and it comes with the responsibility of leadership. But with Sam, he's reduced to moments of freedom from that. Any planning on his part then is done to ensure he can keep this. 

”Do you even have a set goal? A point where you, when you reach it you'll stop and just be content?” Sam adds. 

”No. I don't." He doesn’t. How could he? That would entail letting go of the power he holds. The thrill of control and ownership. He revels in worship, obedience, and even fear. He’s born to hold it. Raised to know he belongs to a superior breed. He'd go mad if he let go of all that. Who else would do his job if he doesn’t? He resents everyone who'd try to take his place. "Tell me about this dream of yours. The house. Dean," he says, deflecting the spotlight back on Sam. So Sam does. Painting a picture of happy domestic life. The white picket fence life, with a twist. Few outside of twins dream of living so close and growing old with a sibling. Luci listens, settling Sam's utopia into the rest of his goals while his fingers reverently touch Sam’s face. He’s calm and still on the inside. He wonders if this is what it's like to be in love. He loves Sam. He knows _that_ without a shadow of a doubt. But is he _in love_? Cas is. He wants it all. Every romantic little detail from holding hands to getting married. Not that Cas has told him that. But Dean is the type who will want to marry and there will come a day when he proposes and when he does, Cas will say yes. 

Luci doesn’t want to get married. What’s the point? Sam’s already his. He doesn’t want children or holding hands on the street. No apple pie life. Yet he wonders if this is it. This feeling he gets when he’s with Sam. The feeling of being whole when he didn’t even know there were pieces missing, to begin with, before Sam. How his heart speeds up of its own accord when Sam touches him. How he constantly thinks of Sam and has shifted his goals to center around the young man. How he feels both calmed by his presence and is made nervous by it. Made to feel as awkward and inexperienced as a little boy, but just as carefree and happy. How he turned traitor to his own family and plans to do worse, just because of Sam. Is that being in love? Or is it just love? He doesn’t know. He just knows the feeling keeps growing. 

”Your turn," Sam says. 

”My turn to what, Sammy?” 

”I dunno. Tell me a good childhood memory,” he answers and tugs absentmindedly on the hem of Luci’s tee. 

Luci hums and thinks for a moment. ”I was 12. I've always wanted to play hockey. That's what I wanted to do so I never missed a practice. But this day Michael, 15 at the time, woke me up at ass crack of dawn..."

* * *

**1998**

”Luce. Wake up. There’s something I want to show you.” 

Luci rubs his eyes sleepily and looks at the clock on the nightstand. He groans in protest. "Mikey, it's 4:30 in the morning. Can’t it wait?" Baby raises her head and growls lowly at Mikey in response to Lucifer’s foul mood. 

Michael just grins. “No, it can’t. I promise you'll like it. Now get dressed and meet me in the stables in five minutes. Oh, and leave your dog behind. She'll ruin the surprise.“ 

”We’re going riding?” 

”Yes, we are," Michael answers with barely contained excitement. 

”Then why can’t she come? She loves when we go riding,” Lucifer whines.

Michael gives him an impatient cuff on the ear and rolls his eyes. "I told you. She'll ruin it. Trust me. You’re gonna love this."

”Alright, alright. I'm coming," Lucifer says grumpily. His curiosity piqued. Baby wouldn’t mind sleeping in and Mikey rarely does stuff like this without a reason. 

”Great!” Michael practically beams before getting up and hurrying downstairs. 

Luci meets him outside the stables once he's dressed. Michael is already sitting in the saddle of a bay quarter mare, holding the reins of Luci’s favourite gray Arabian mare. Luci’s mood is better now that he’s fully awake. He sits up, giving the mare a pat on the neck and taking the reins from his grinning brother. They set off towards the mountains.

* * *

**Present day**

”Wait. You had horses?” Sam asks with wonder. 

Lucifer chuckles. “We had ten. They belonged to all of us. Some of us enjoyed riding more than the rest. Me and Mikey were amongst those."

”That’s awesome. I've never ridden a horse. It seems really cool." Sam smiles excitedly. 

Lucifer files that under things to do. Take Sam riding. But where? Montana? No. Sam said he wanted to travel. Maybe Spain to ride Andalusians? Or new Zealand for the beautiful views? Or ride through the countryside of France, stopping by different vineyards? The possibilities are endless. Maybe they should bring Cas and Dean along. In that case, they could go to Ireland or Scotland. Ride between whiskey distilleries. "It is. They are magnificent creatures,” is all Lucifer says, though. He is not one to make promises that may not come to pass.

* * *

**1998**

It takes less than fifteen minutes on horseback for Luci to be thoroughly thrilled that Mikey woke him up so early in the morning. The sun is rising, casting the world in hues of pink and gold. Birds are singing and it seems every one of the inhabitants of the forest is up and about. As they climb higher in the forest-clad mountain they spot deer, elk, fox, badger, hares, and even an eagle circling up above. It would be more than enough for Luci, but Michael presses on with single-minded determination. The clock is nearing 7 AM when he tells Luci to dismount and that they have to leave the horses and walk the rest of the way. They tie the horses up so they can graze and Mikey brings a backpack. Luci follows him up an old deer trail until they reach a small clearing just by a cliffside. Mikey puts down his backpack by a tree and grins at Luci. He digs out a pair of binoculars. “Not sure if you’ll actually need these, but just in case,” he says as he hands them over. “Over here, come on.” He lays flat on his belly and crawls to the ledge, pointing down in the small bowl like valley below. The sun is up now filling the valley with colour. Luci lays on his stomach beside his big brother following his finger to see where he points. He’s pointing at a formation of boulders close to a little stream. At first, Luci sees nothing. Then… “Right on time,” Michael whispers gleefully and watches Luci excitedly.

Luci sucks in a breath when he sees it, and presses the binoculars to his eyes to see better. At first, it’s just a tiny head poking out shyly to disappear again. Then two heads peeking out. The third to appear is not as careful and practically tumbles out with a little yip, closely followed by its watchful mother. _Wolves._ Honest to god _wild_ wolves! “Told you you’d like it,” Michael says. “You’re such a nature nut.”

Luci just grins at him and goes back to watching as the pups, five in total, come out to play. Mikey digs up a couple of sandwiches from the backpack and hands two over to Luci, keeping one for himself.

”You wanna share this one?” Luci asks once he finishes the first sandwich.

”Nah. You’re such a little runt. I, on the other hand, am a magnificent specimen already. You need it more than I do,” Mikey says and ruffles Luci’s hair.

Luci snorts. “Jackass.” He eats it anyway. He’s hungry and Mikey won’t take any food from him as long as that’s the case. A bit later Mikey disappears for a while to move the horses so they can drink and have fresh grass around them to graze. He comes back and lays down to read, using Luci’s back as a pillow. When the noon sun is beating down hard he puts a baseball cap on Luci’s head and goes to sit in the shade of the tree. The rest of the pack comes back. The greetings are very vocal and the puppies lick the adults' mouths until they regurgitate food. Luci stays watching. Mikey does another round to check on the horses. When he comes back Luci has removed his shirt, letting the sun warm it. Mikey entertains himself by writing stuff on his back with a finger, letting Luci guess what he writes. Then later still, tickling Luci with a blade of grass. They share a grilled chicken Mikey had packed for late lunch. The wolves are aware of their presence by now, but the sheer cliff wall that separates them act as safety and the wolves have deemed them harmless. Mikey goes through lessons Luci’s supposed to have today that he’s missing, making sure he doesn’t miss too much, then goes for a walk. He comes back with a handful of wild strawberries he’s found. He spears them on a grass straw and gives to Luci. The wolves laze around, play and squabble. Luci sits up and leans against Mikey’s chest, pointing out the alfa couple, which one’s the omega and tells him of the roles they play in the pack. Mikey is content to listen to Luci’s enthusiastic lecture even if he’s moderately interested beyond ‘ _Wow. Wild wolves._ ’ His comment is “They’re like us. They’re family and they take care of each other.” That’s it. It doesn’t matter. He stays all day because he knows how much this means to Luci. They leave when the sun starts setting and the wolves are getting ready to go out to hunt.

* * *

**Present day**

”When we got home _Otac_ was livid.” Luci raises a meaningful eyebrow towards Sam. “When I say livid, I mean he stared coldly at us and told us he was very disappointed in us. Mikey told some bullshit story to take all the blame as always. But that’s the only time I missed out on hockey practice on purpose.” He smirks. “It’s a great memory.” Sam has a troubled wrinkle between his brows and Luci traces it with a finger. “Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about Mikey?”

”Yeah. Well… No. It’s not like I don’t want you to talk about him. It’s just that… I dunno. Look. I can’t get the two images of him to mesh, you know? For me, he’s this horrible evil man and when you talk about him he’s all generous and caring and self-sacrificing. I can’t… It just doesn’t add up, you know?” Sam closes his eyes when Luci traces his eyebrows. “It kinda scares me, to be honest. I mean why? Why would someone who can be so nice, choose to do things as horrible as he did to me? _Why?_ I mean, it just doesn’t make sense that somebody that evil can be that good.”

Lucifer purses his lips and refrains from explaining what motivated Michael. Sometimes he found Sam’s habit of trying to sort the world into black and white irksome. (Most of the time.) So instead he traces the old faded scar on Sam’s left temple up to his hair. “Tell me how you became a Harry Potter wannabe, Sammy.”

The often repeated lie fall automatically from Sam’s lips. “I fell out of a tree.”

Luci is not having it. Sam sucks in a shocked breath and his eyes fly open when Luci slaps him. Luci grabs his jaw, fingers digging in, and forces him to meet his eyes. He lets his anger show. Keeps his voice cold and hard. “I will not tolerate lies, Sammy- _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester. If you don’t want to tell me, take a page out of Castiel’s playbook and keep your mouth shut. But do. not. _lie_. Is that clear?”

” _It was dad._ ” The words tumble out almost before Luci has finished speaking. Fear clear in Sam’s eyes. As there should be. Luci is not to be trifled with. 

Placated, Luci lets go of Sam’s jaw and strokes his hair soothingly. “I thought as much. Tell me about it.”

Sam huddles closer, clings to Luci’s shirt, seeking comfort. It never fails to elevate Luci’s pulse. Not with those big scared puppy eyes locked on him, asking for unspoken forgiveness and begging for protection. “I-I don’t remember much. Really, I don’t. I was twelve. It was the same day dad died. He was in one of his bad periods. He hardly slept, and when he did, he woke from nightmares, screaming in fear. He might have slept tops one or two hours a day, for at least a week. He kept having panic attacks. Couldn’t go out. He was jumping at shadows, talking to himself.” The words pour out of Sam like a torrent now. Luci gathers him into his arms and rocks him softly. Sam curls in on himself, making himself smaller, and clings harder. “He kept drinking. Popping pills. Sleeping pills. Anti-anxiety pills. Nothing helped. It only made it worse. He kept seeing stuff that wasn’t there.”

”He was hallucinating?”

”Mhm.” Sam nods vigorously against Luci’s chest. “Yeah. He was. And he was so scared. _So scared_. I just wanted to help. Wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.”

”Where was Dean?”

”I don’t remember. He wasn’t at home. It wasn’t his fault.”

”Why would it be Dean’s fault?”

”He keeps saying it wouldn’t have happened if he was at home. That it was his job to protect me. That it was his fault. But it wasn’t. I was supposed to be with a friend but I went home instead.”

”So what happened?”

”I was upstairs studying and I heard dad scream in the living room. I mean a really blood-curdling scream, like he was having his fucking heart ripped out. I ran downstairs.” Sam takes a deep breath. “What happens next is really hard to recall when I’m awake. I dream of it and wake up crying, remembering it vividly, but it fades fairly quickly. It’s just a blur, you know? I ran down and dad’s on his knees on the living room floor, white as a sheet, yelling at somebody to get up, to not die on him. But there’s nobody there, right? So I call for him.” Sam falls quiet and swallows. And swallows again. “Oh fuck.” He lets go of Luci and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes in a futile attempt to stop tears from welling up. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Luce. It happened in 2005 and it still gets to me. It’s nine friggin years ago and it still gets to me.”

”It’s okay. Take your time.”

Sam takes a few shuddering breaths. “It’s fractured. I mean. I remember the terror I felt crystal clear. But not exactly what happened. He looks up, sees me… His face just. Just twisted into murderous rage. ‘ _You_ ’ was all he said. Then… then I’m running. Something must have happened in between, because I’m bleeding.” He rolls over onto his back and slaps a hand onto the side of his arm and then onto a small faded scar on the side of his neck. He looks up at the ceiling. Eye movements revealing that he’s really looking at the fragmented memory. “I’m yelling ‘No dad, I’m your son. Please.’... Then… We’re outside in the yard. I’m scrambling on my knees. I don’t know if I fell or if dad did it. I’m running again… I get a kick in the back. Lose my breath and I’m thrown forward straight into a tree head first.” He fingers the scar on his temple. “Either I pass out or… I dunno. The last thing I remember is blinding pain in my head and dad standing over me by the base of the tree, lifting a thick branch. I don’t remember it coming down on me. Everything after that is just black. I woke up in the hospital about a week later.”

Sam turns his head and looks at Luci. Sam's eyes are filled with unshed tears. “Who found you?” Luci asks.

”Dean did. He called the ambulance. He thought I was dead. Said I was ice cold when he found me. I had a swelling in my brain. They operated to relieve pressure but didn’t know if I was going to make it. If I was going to wake up, and if I did, if I was gonna have severe brain damage. The official story is that I had fallen out of the tree, hitting too many branches on my way down.”

”Dean found you like that and then your dad died. He’s a good brother indeed.”

”He didn’t do anything, okay? He stayed with me in the hospital. Never left my side.” Sam gives him a troubled scowl at Luci’s implication. His body language tells Luci he’s telling the truth as he knows it, so he lets it rest. On the inside, he’s giving Dean a standing ovation. He doesn’t believe for a minute that it’s a coincidence that John Winchester kicked the bucket, the same day Dean thought he lost his brother.

”What I don’t get is how dad could do this? I mean, when he was good, or okay at least, he loved us, right? He was good to us. Did his best. At times he was a great dad! Those are the things I remember most about him. I even miss him. Dean doesn’t like to talk about the good times much. But then, when he was bad, ‘ts like he was a whole other person. And-and we were children, right? I don’t get it. Even if he saw stuff that wasn’t there, he should know we were his sons. That we wouldn’t hurt him…”

“Do you know where he was stationed?”

“No. He never talked about the war.”

“Well, I know where he was stationed. You may not be surprised to hear I did some research about your father?” Luci raises an eyebrow in question. Sam makes a minuscule headshake to indicate that no, he isn’t. Luci continues. “War is good for the _Porodica_. We make tons of money from smuggling goods, selling weapons, deceiving refugees desperate to get out of the war zones and shipping them off to be used in the sex trade or other forms of slavery. Therefore it wasn’t hard for me to find out the real conditions in the area where your dad was deployed. We made a huge profit in that conflict. The rebel guerilla that captured your dad and his squad used a lot of child soldiers. Children are impressionable and easy to indoctrinate. Adults are more often than not hesitant to hurt them too. I couldn’t find out exactly what happened to your dad, only what was going on in the area. A huge part of the rebel ‘ _soldiers_ ’ the American troops were up against, were under the age of fifteen. Some as young as maybe six?”

”Bobby never mentioned any child soldiers,” Sam interrupts. It’s a statement but his tone lilt upward at the end, making it a question.

”That’s because Singer was wounded before the company was moved into that area.” Luci had done some background checks on Bobby too. Anyone who he knew had a significant part in Sam’s life came under scrutiny. Some might consider him to be a creepy stalker for it. He doesn’t care. He is protecting his interests. “Your dad was the only one from his squad to survive. He would have come up against these armed children. It’s possible even that they participated in tormenting him during his captivity. With how bad your dad’s PTSD was, it’s no mystery he couldn’t tell you from his hallucinated memories, based on you being children.”

Sam opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again. He stares into the distance with a sad and troubled expression, eyes moving but not seeing here and now. Luci’s conclusion is that Sam’s recalling memories of his father’s hostile and aggressive behaviour towards them while applying this new information. Sam might have loved his father, but if he still was alive Luci would have gutted him for the horrors he put Sam through. Whether they could be explained or not doesn’t matter. Sam lays his head down on Luci’s chest, right over his heart, and huddles closer. “It’s late. Maybe I should go,” he says.

”Maybe you shouldn't,” Luci counters. 

Sam’s quiet for a moment, then sits up and shimmies out of his jeans and socks. He drops them on the floor beside the bed and lays down again. Luci reaches out to cut the light, to hide his smug smirk. He sits up to remove his own sweatpants. When he lays down he holds an arm out for Sam who slots himself in place with his head over Luci’s heart again, Luci’s arm around him. Luci tugs a comforter over the both of them. Sam lies very still. Luci may not see him in this darkness but he can feel the introspective sadness surrounding Sam like a second skin. His thoughts still lingering on his dad. Luci almost feels guilty about taking such pleasure in having Sam curled up against him seeking comfort. It’s a tactical error to bid Sam stay. The more time they spend together like this, and out in the open, the sooner _Otac_ will find out. After that, who knows what will happen? He strokes Sam’s silky soft hair while he gets lost in his own troubled thoughts. Sam’s hand comes to rest on his stomach, thumb stroking softly back and forth, mimicking the pace of Luci’s own caress.

The tactical thing to do is to lay a clear strategy of defence (and offence) about what to do in a worst case scenario (in any scenario, really). Win over Dean’s solid loyalty, so he can be prepared for the dangers ahead. He has to get in contact with some of his brothers, to gauge if there are any of them who’d side with him, or at least stay out of the conflict. Croats, especially those who have worked in close contact with the Божја браћа, will be very hesitant to turn against any of the brothers, despite what their orders are. More lowly pawns will not be. Just because they aren’t high up in the _Porodica_ doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat. He will still have access to a great part of the _Porodica_ resources, even after it got known he’s out. It’d be hard to stop him from using them. He knows codes, ciphers, locations of safehouses, and has contacts. The information he has is endless, but he’ll still need to build a network of his own. When all this and more is done, _then_ he can finally give himself the freedom to be with Sam. These thoughts keep clogging up his mind, going in circles, day out and day in.

The tactical thing to do was _not_ to kiss Sam openly in a gay club like he’d done. He isn’t afraid of being spotted by someone at the site. Apart from his brothers, only a handful of croats who had worked at the family home would know the significance of seeing Luci kiss like that. Usually, kisses, given or received, make him slightly uncomfortable. And usually, he’d never stand for kisses on the mouth. It’s too much of an invasion. Anyway, photographs are the real danger. All it would take is one picture hitting the internet or media, _Otac_ would know and the countdown would begin.

Sam raises his head as if he could sense Luci’s fretting and seeks his mouth. Luci’s traitorous pulse shoots skyward and his skin feels too tight. It’s discombobulating how dual the feeling of kissing Sam is. Both bordering on too invasive and blissful comfort that blooms warmly in his chest. There’s this nugget of worry Sam will push too far, along with the wonder of liking it. But like it, he does.

Moments like these Luci is in unknown territory and feels disconcertingly lost. The moment he laid eyes on Sam the first time, he was doomed to change forever. Change sneaks up on you. You think you’re the one in control. Curiosity turns to interest turns to obsession turns to _need_. When you need something you’re no longer in control. He hides it, this loss of control, but over and over he finds himself acting outside of the borders of logic and reason. All just to keep this. To have more of this.

The boy Sam once was, has grown to be a man unafraid of taking what he wants. He _knows_ Sam wants more. He can feel it now in how Sam’s hand wanders inside of his T-shirt to burn scalding against his bare skin. In the way his kisses turn hungrier and his breath heavier. Luci isn’t aware of how he has tensed up and pulled himself back until Sam lets out a shaky breath and lays his head back on Luci’s chest, hand stilling at his waist. Luci has goosebumps wherever Sam has touched him and his lips tingle pleasantly. Sam mumbles “Good night,” into his tee.

Luci kisses his forehead in response and strokes Sam’s hair. Momentarily he tightens his grip on the hair possessively, eliciting a wordless sound of approval from Sam. Sam wants more. The problem is that Luci’s not sure he’s equipped to give it…

* * *


	75. Life in Vivid Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas takes a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**ALL THE ROMANTIC CRAP**

* * *

Two days before the derby

”I need to stop by Lucifer and leave a report. Would you like to go ahead and wait in my room or do you want to accompany me?” Cas asks as they enter the lobby.

Dean’s eyes fall on the gift shop in the lobby. “You know what? You go ahead. Just gimme your key and I’ll prepare the bath, okay?” he says as he turns his head back to smile at Cas.

”Alright,” Cas says fishing out the key card out of his pocket. “I’ll be back in estimately 23 to 28 minutes.” _Dork._ Cas turns away to head for the elevators but Dean catches his wrist and yanks him back close.

Dean gives him a kiss on the mouth, smirks lopsided and waggles his eyebrows at him. “I’ll be waiting for you in the bath. _Naked._ ”

Cas grins that endearing gummy smile that makes his nose crinkle. “I’ll be there in 17 minutes tops,” he changes his estimation.

Dean chuckles. “Fucking nerd. Now go on, _git_.” He shoos Cas away with a slap on the butt and catches an old lady staring disgustedly at them. Beside her a teenage girl is grinning an _awww-that’s-cute_ -smile at him. He sticks his tongue out at the old hag, winks at the teenager and saunters into the gift shop to check out if he’d seen what he thought he’d spotted. By the kids’ section where there’s an assortment of different playthings that may entertain a travelling child he finds it. Something he remembers from his childhood. It sends a jolt of excitement through him. It’s perfect and Cas is gonna love it. Or Dean is gonna love it and   
Cas is gonna suffer through it because he loves Dean. Same difference. Dean grins to himself. He buys the present for Cas, some bubble bath and other bath stuff, and a bag of tea lights. Then he heads for the front desk and makes an order, stressing that they need to be fast about it. He makes his way up to Cas’ room and gets to work, filling the spacious tub with water and pouring in the bubble bath liquid. He’d taken that one from the kids section too. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Cas’ sometimes startling tastes by now, it’s “When in doubt - go sickly sweet and fruity.” Kinda like buying candy for Gabe. He chuckles to himself as the smell of artificial cherry starts filling the air and a thick layer of cloud-like bubbles well up around the pouring water. Maybe it’s an angel thing, huh? Fruity and sugary.

He starts placing and lighting the tea lights on every suitable surface in the bathroom. It’s big and square, one full length mirror on the wall, another large mirror above the wash basin and all made up by pale marble. Tile, basin, and the outsides of the large tub―all in marble with broad edges perfect to put the tea lights on. (He silently wonders how the hell The Angels can afford this kind of accommodations. Maybe they aren’t the ones paying? He’s not sure if he really wants to know.) He only puts a few on the edges of the bathtub, though, and all down by the foot end. Burning hair would be somewhat of a mood killer. If they want they can always move the lights once they’re firmly seated. He arranges the sponge and the scrubby-thingie he bought high up within easy reach. Until now they’ve only had stolen moments and have had to keep hidden in his room. This is something Dean loves to do, even if he isn’t keen on admitting it. All this romantic bullshit. He’d done stuff like this with Lisa too. Made romantic home-cooked meals with candles and shit like that. Picnics. Sensual massages with froofy scented oils. The works. 

There’s a knock on the door and Dean hurries out to open. The bellboy rolls in a wagon with chilled champagne, chocolate dipped strawberries, whipped cream, and a vase with a bouquet of a dozen red roses. Gods, he is such a girl!

”Honeymoon, Sir?” the young bellboy asks grinning.

”I wish,” Dean answers and then almost slaps a hand over his mouth. “Um... I mean...”

The bellboy, a young guy, Sam’s age or even younger, seems to catch himself and looks mortified. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m new. I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

Dean gives him a reassuring smile. “No worries. I ain’t holding it against you. But I’m thinking it wasn’t really smart to choose whipped cream. It’s gettin’ quite foggy in there. Might be meltin’ it too soon,” he says and gestures towards the open bathroom door.

”You can always order more, Sir.” The bellboy looks relieved at Dean’s lack of offense. He looks into the bathroom and grins, eyes sparkling. _A romantic nutjob just like myself, huh?_ Then he looks back at Dean and a bit unsure says. “Sir. If you don’t mind me asking… Are you Dean Winchester? _Demon Dean_?” He fiddles nervously with his fingers.

Dean chuckles. “You a fan?”

The guy’s eyes light up. “Yes, Sir. I’d barely heard of Team Free Will before this season but _Holy Shit_ , Sir! Once I saw you play… I’ve been following you. You’re amazing. Can’t believe you don’t play in ChHL yet! I try to watch every game. I’ve got tickets for the game this weekend.” The bellhop’s eyes practically glow with excitement.

Dean grins broadly. “Thank you. Always nice to meet a fan. What’s your name?”

”Matt. Matt Pike, Sir.”

”Matt. I don’t play in the ChHL yet because I’m loyal to my team. Loyalty comes first for me. ‘Sides, that’s where we’re headin’, right? The ChHL?”

”Yes, Sir!” Matt beams at him.

”I ain’t got no photo or anything to sign for you here. You got your phone? You want to take a picture of us?”

Matt gets super excited about it and digs his phone up. Dean throws his arm around his shoulder and lets him snap a couple of pictures, repeatedly thanking Dean and then refusing to take any tip, saying everything is on the house before backing out of the room.

Dean just grins and shakes his head. He takes the champagne, strawberries and cream into the bathroom and shuts the water off. He places a towel on the serving wagon beside the roses and writes a note that he places on top of the towel, saying “This is the only thing you’re allowed to wear before entering the bathroom.” The serving wagon is then maneuvered so it almost blocks the bathroom door, leaving just enough space to allow Dean to squeeze through. He gets undressed, goes into the bathroom, makes sure that Cas’ present is just beside the tub and lowers himself down into the scalding water.

It’s verging on too hot, but feels fucking heavenly just the same. He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears the door open. Not until he _hears_ the door open, he realises Cas doesn’t have a key card. Obviously not a problem, but still a miss in his calculations. He hears Cas rummaging around in the room and he gets a bit nervous that Cas will find all this ridiculous. Then the door opens and Cas stands there clad only in the towel and hugging the vase of roses to his chest. His lips are tightly compressed in a smile like he’s trying to hold back feelings. His eyes are crinkling at the corners and he looks around at all the lights, takes in the champagne and strawberries and the giant mountain of foam in the bath tub. He sniffs the air twice, then draws a deep breath of the cherry scented air before his eyes settle on Dean’s face. “I did not anticipate this,” he says with a face-splitting grin.

”That’s what you get for having an awesome boyfriend!” Dean grins back just as widely and pats the water below the bubbles. “What are you waitin’ for, _assbutt_. Get in!” The nervousness about being ridiculed has vanished in the face of Cas’ reaction.

Cas drops his towel, sets down the flowers on the floor close to the tub and steps in gingerly, then lowers himself down between Dean’s legs and leans back against his chest with a content sigh. “Thank you.”

Dean wonders why man ever wanted to build hot air balloons and airplanes when you could get the feeling of flying simply by taking a bath with someone you love. You know. Without the feeling of _Oh-shit-I’m-gonna-die-a-painful-horrid-death_ that accompanied ordinary aircrafts. Cas feels almost cold against his skin in the hot water. It’s fucking wonderful. He circles Cas with his arms and kisses his neck. “You want some bubbly, baby?” he asks sweetly. _Dammit!_ The endearment slinks out of his mouth before he can stop it. It’s just absurd to call his mad, badass boyfriend _baby_. Not that Cas seems to mind.

”Yes. I’d like that…” Cas answers with a soft smile. He sits up to allow Dean the room to reach for the bottle. While Dean opens the champagne with a loud bang that shoots the cork away to almost hit a mirror (and causing a giggle fit for both of them) Cas plays with the foam in the bath, trying to shape it into different things with moderate success.

Dean pours them a glass each and gives Cas one of them. “What should we toast to?”

Cas twists so he can see Dean. “To life in vivid colours,” he says with a brilliant smile.

”Yeah?”

”Yes. And the silence of clocks,” Cas says decisively.

Dean snorts in amusement. “You’re fucking weird.”

”You keep telling me that. Oh, and I know!” Cas lights up. “And to fire,” he raises his glass.

Dean’s chest feels like it will explode with how much something swells inside of him. “I’ll drink to that.” He clinks their glasses together. “To fire.” He drinks, bubbles tickling his nose, thinking that Cas is perfect. There’s no way Dean deserves him. So what if he has some psychopathic tendencies? Who doesn’t? Dean’s hardly one to speak. God knows he’s done worse. Without speaking he picks up a strawberry and dips it in cream, then holds it up to Cas’ mouth. Cas takes a bit, practically purring. No. _Literally_ purring. “You like that, Angel?”

“Mmhm.”

”I wanna taste,” Dean says and uses a finger to guide Cas head to turn so he can kiss him. He concludes that it’s an irrefutable fact that anything tastes better if it tastes Cas too. Or rather, any taste of Cas’ kiss is good. So is any excuse for getting that kiss.

The next strawberry he places between his teeth and lets Cas take it that way. He blames feeding Cas on Castiel’s hands being full of foam while his isn’t. The third Cas pushes into his mouth with his own to make him eat it. They share all the strawberries that way, trading kisses to get a taste of each other as well, licking cream from around each other’s mouths. Dean keeps ‘spilling’ cream on Cas’ neck for an excuse to lick it off. It’s almost a shame they aren’t in the bedroom so he can spill on other places too.

When they’ve finished the strawberries (lots of giggles involved) and had some more champagne Dean feels light-headed. The foam in the water has started to disappear which is perfect for Dean’s intentions. “I got you a gift.” He is a bit excited about it. Cas may think him silly for it but Dean doesn’t think so.

”There’s more?”

Dean chuckles at Castiel’s delighted big eyes. He’s so beautiful like this. All wet and soft and relaxed, lit by all the tea lights. They give off a surprising amount of warm, yellow light. Dean reaches down to collect the little plastic bag beside the tub. “Yeah. I didn’t wrap it, but you’ll live.” He winks and hands the bag over.

Cas opens it and looks inside. “Bath crayons?” he says with confusion. He takes out the package and reads what’s written on it, then tears it open to get at the crayons. Dean laughs at how his face changes from befuddled to enthusiastic.

”Dad used to buy them for us when we were young. Or for me. Sam wasn’t as keen. When we were still young enough to bathe together he got to act as the canvas most of the time,” Dean explains as Cas dips a crayon in water and experimentally draws a line on himself, then on the wall, then on Dean.

”I like this,” he states.

”Me too.” Dean takes one of the crayons that Cas now is arranging on the edge of the tub and dips it in the water. “Don’t tell anyone, but when I got older I used to nick these out of the store to study.”

”How do you study with these?”

”Sometimes I find it hard to learn stuff when I’m just sitting still reading or writing. So when I took a bath or a shower I used to do this.” He starts writing on the marble wall with the crayon. Writing out the chemical formula for the reaction he used to start the fire in the car. Then when he sees Cas reading he writes “ _Tu me rends heureux!_ ” (You make me happy!)

Cas makes a happy little sound and writes “ _T'avoir dans ma vie est une bénédiction._ ” (I'm blessed for having you in my life.) “These are great. We should keep them stocked at home always,” Cas concludes.

”I can get behind that. Now scoot forward so I can draw on your back.”

Cas obliges and Dean steals the black and blue crayon and starts drawing. Cas is drawing too but Dean doesn’t know what. He’s focused on making feathers. “I wish Father would have let me have things like this…”

”He didn’t?” Dean asks, then pokes his tongue out in concentration.

”No. The only toys I was allowed were those he deemed would further my education or athleticism. Balls, rackets, skipping rope, balance boards. Anything that could help reach our goals.”

” _Our_ goals?”

”Yes. Winning the Olympics. But frankly, my top priority was making Father proud. I liked a lot of the activities he assigned me. Gymnastics, dancing, martial arts…”

” _Ballet_ ,” Dean chimes in with a teasing grin.

”Ballet,” Cas agrees. “But that was just plain painful. When you see them dancers jump around on the tip of their toes you’d better be in awe, Dean. _Awe_.” Cas is drawing on the wall beside them now. Dean throws a look at what he’s doing. He’s making a pattern of criss crossing lines with mathematical precision to the distance between each line. A far cry from the uneven lines of the black and blue wings Dean is currently giving Cas’ back. Dean might not be a master artist but it still looks like wings at least. “Father even adopted Meg for the sake of my career,” Cas adds.

”Your ex?”

Cas snorts. “My partner. I _hated_ her in the beginning. She was horrible and I was forced to be nice to her because she could skate brilliantly and had a style that fit well with my own. It took almost a year before I stopped resenting her. Funny how you can learn to love somebody you couldn’t stand in the beginning. Her death almost took me along with it.”

”What? Like suicide?”

”No. More like my brain rejected the very idea of her being gone and kept resetting to the last time I spoke with her on the phone. I forgot to eat, couldn’t sleep. Big chunks of my memory from that time are just gone.” Cas sounds so relaxed talking about this, yet this is the first time he has talked about it with anything resembling detail.

”Huh.” Dean frowns and stills his hand for a moment. “What happened?”

So Cas tells him. He talks about his father’s death. Then Meg. How he’d almost died of fucking starvation, despite getting food delivered regularly. About not recognising himself in the mirror. Then how he just had picked up his stuff and left. It’s quite frightening to hear actually.

”...so I wandered. I didn’t want to live. The only thing that kept me alive was that I didn’t want to die, if that makes sense? I was so angry. I couldn’t put any blame on Meg. But I was angry at Father for abandoning me. I guess that’s what made me act opposite everything he’d taught me. I remember my first fight. I was jumped in an alley by two guys. I lost that fight but what stood out, was that I felt so _alive_. Even lying there on the ground with my face in a puddle, bleeding from my mouth and one eye swollen shut, I felt happy for the first time in forever. It faded quickly, though, so I started searching it out. I searched for anything that could make me feel for just a second. Drugs. Sex. Violence. High speeds. You name it.”

”No wonder you’re so fucked up,” Dean says jokingly. Inside his heart’s bleeding for what Castiel has gone through. 

Cas chuckles. “Whatever you say,” he agrees. “Father and Meg died in 2005―”

”Same year as our dad died.”

”Mhm. I’ve always had trouble connecting with people and to feel. After their death, it was like I no longer could feel at all. Everything became grey except for short moments when I was high one way or another. I think it was the end of 2007 when I met someone who made me live again.”

Dean touches the bite mark bruise on Castiel’s shoulder. “The guy you let mark you up?”

”Yes. But it wasn’t like you think. Not like us. I loved him fiercely. I did. But he was more like a surrogate for Father. I worshipped him like a dog.” Something in the almost wistful way Cas says it makes Dean think that he still does, and jealousy rears it’s dark ugly head again.

”You said you bottomed for this guy. If that’s the kind of thing your dad did, I’m scared to know,” Dean says, keeping his voice light.

Cas chuckles. “Father barely touched me, remember? I had to work hard for even the slightest of touches, so no. But this guy… I put him on a pedestal. My main goal was to make him pleased. I don’t mean sexually, because it took quite a while before our relationship got to that point. No. He was older. Experienced. Skilled. A natural leader just like Luci. He gave me purpose and a sense of belonging that I hadn’t had for a very long time. He, uh… He worked for the mafia. I worked for him. I was in training to become what he was.”

”You worked for the mafia?”

”Yes. As a hitman and enforcer.” Cas turns his head so he can look at Dean’s reaction. He has that vulnerable look again. Like he had when Dean confronted him about killing Balt’s attackers.

Dean grins and raises an eyebrow. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.” Somehow it seems to fit with all the things Dean has learned about Cas these two days. Cas relaxes in the light of Dean’s easy acceptance.

Cas smiles. “Yes. And for the first time in forever, I was happy. Maybe happier than I’d ever been. I loved the life we were living and I loved him.” Dean goes back to focusing on his drawing to hide that ugly dark flare in his gut. “There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

”So what made him leave you?”

”He didn’t. I left him.”

Dean swallows, studiously not looking at Cas. A cold knot of fear mingling with the dark jealousy. “ _Why_? If you loved him so much…” he trails off, paying great attention to drawing the barbs of the feathers.

”I didn’t want to,” Cas says sadly and goes back to drawing, this time on Dean’s leg. “Leaving him flung me even deeper down in depression than I’d been before. Made me more numb than I had been. Took me almost three years before I got tired of drifting and ended up playing hockey in Sweden. And I didn’t connect with anyone again, emotionally, until I met Sam. Then it was Luci and you and well…” Cas sighs. “You got to understand, Dee, this mafia… You don’t play around with them. They are amongst the most ruthless and dangerous people you will encounter. Their penchant for vengeance in the cruelest way is fabled. If it’s one thing they do not tolerate, it’s to be double crossed. And I had been living under false identities since I left home. I was afraid what would happen if he found out. Or worse, if anyone else found out. Especially the leaders of the mafia. He didn’t know who I really was, so I left. Faked my own death and took off.”

”Yeah but if you really loved him...” Dean persists.

”It’s more complicated than that. Even if I’d told him and he’d have my back in the matter it would have endangered him and forced him to be part of a double cross. I couldn’t do that to him.” Cas twists around, sensing the source of Dean’s mounting discomfort. “Dean. I’m never going to leave you. _Never_.” He says it with such fervent conviction Dean can’t help but relax.

”Good. Because I ain’t lettin’ you go. Ever.” He kisses Cas then, taking comfort in the taste of his mouth and the slick feeling of his tongue. He breaks the kiss and smiles dopily at Cas. Sometimes it’s easier to say things in a language that is not your own, so that's what he does. “Je t'aime, mon Ange,” he says softly.

” _Je sais,_ ” Cas answers with a grin and waggles his eyebrows. 

Dean breaks out laughing. “Dude! You did not just Han Solo’d me in French!”

”I may have done just that,” Cas grins back.

”You fucker,” Dean says, splashing water on him and laughing when Cas splashes back. Cas freezes, catching sight of his back in the mirror.

”Wow. That looks very good.”

”You don’t have to sound so surprised about it,” Dean answers with a cheeky smile, drags his fingers over the wings on Cas back, smearing them out and then drags his fingers over Cas’ cheeks, making lines mimicking Indian war paint. “Life in vivid colour,” he says. Cas lays flat down chest against chest, making water splash onto the floor, and draws something on Dean’s face with red and yellow before kissing him. It soon escalates. They draw and kiss and grope, coloured water sloshing everywhere. They’re both covered with colour, sliding slick against each other in the big tub, need for release mounting. Cas dives his head down underwater and takes Dean’s cock in his mouth. The mouth that felt so hot to kiss feels cool in comparison to the heat of the water. Cas works him over, coming up for air a couple of times but going straight down again. It doesn’t take long for Dean’s orgasm to build up. He lays a hand on Cas’ head to keep it locked in place when he comes with a string of profanities. He pulls Cas up roughly by his hair for a kiss, knowing how much Cas loves to kiss while one of them has come in their mouth. He also feels a bit of guilt for forcing him to hold his breath under water while Dean came and for the force he uses to pull Cas up. Cas on the other hand is not minding _at all_. As soon as he’s lying flat against Dean’s chest kissing enthusiastically he’s rutting wantonly against Dean’s leg like an obnoxious dog.

”Can I come?” Cas asks needily into Dean’s mouth. 

” _Jeezus_ , No, you can’t come, you friggin mutt,” he answers with an amused laugh. “Stand up and lean your back against the wall,” Dean orders and shoves Cas off him. He doesn’t understand why Cas so often asks for permission when he’s at his high point of arousal. _Of course_ he can come. Just do it already! But since he does ask…

Cas obeys with a petulant whine that turns into a sucked in breath when Dean sits up and grabs his dick firmly in one hand.

”Okay, Champ, you hold it for as long as you can, alright? But just let go when you can’t, got it?” Dean instructs and waits for Cas to nod before getting to it. This is still new to him. Even if it didn’t take _that_ long to get used to touching and thinking about another man’s body sexually, once he and Cas had gone X-rated. But giving Cas blowjobs is something he doesn’t get to practise that often. Mostly because Cas always comes so fast when he does. It might be his own damned fault, since he doesn’t really come up with the idea to blow Cas until Cas already is on the verge of exploding. 

Dean takes the head into his mouth and swirls his tongue, tasting precome, soapy cherry water and crayon. Fuck it. They’ve got colour _everywhere_. Some drawn there on purpose, some smeared by grubby hands. Dean looks up at Cas and grabs his hand, guiding it to the back of Dean’s head. He pops off long enough to say “Guide me, okay?”.

Cas scowls down on him. “ _Bloody hell, Dee,_ ” he growls with a dangerous desperate edge to his voice. Dean takes him into his mouth again chuckling. The vibrations from his laughter draws a hiss out of Cas which just makes Dean laugh more. Okay so he’s not exactly at pro level giving blowjobs, so sue him. Cas pushes his head down further to make him stop laughing. “Stop that, you bloody twat, or I won’t last,” Cas scolds when Dean nearly chokes. It doesn’t matter. Cas only holds out for a couple of minutes while Dean hollows his cheeks and sucks, bobs his head, massaging the underside the best he can with his tongue and looks up at Cas through his eyelashes. Cas comes with a silent cry almost doubling over. Dean puts a hand in the middle of his chest to stop that from happening. He keeps milking Cas. He just fucking loves how Cas squirms and whimpers from oversensitivity after an orgasm. He doesn’t swallow the salty come. Instead he stand up to kiss Cas and has trouble keeping from laughing when Cas detects the little surprise in his mouth and greedily licks into it to get it all. _Major. Fucking. Kink._ They sink back into what’s left of the water, Cas on top of him, not showing any signs of wanting to stop kissing. He can feel Cas’ dick doing a valiant twitch against his thigh.

Dean pushes Cas’ head away and sniggers at the indignant huff that elicits. “Dude. We’ve gotta work on your stamina for getting blowjobs. I mean seriously. _Now_ it’s okay, but what about when we’re fifty, huh? It’ll take forever for you to recuperate and fun-time will be over way too fucking fast.” 

”If you stop waiting until I’m already by the finish line, we won’t _have_ that problem,” Cas counters with a grin, then get that thoughtful squinty expression. “I’ve never considered I might still be alive by fifty…”

_Huh._ It didn’t even occur to Dean what he’d said until Cas reacted to it. Hell, _he_ had never really thought about where he’d be at fifty. Not that he thinks he’d be dead, like Cas obviously does. But wherever he’ll be at that point, his brain has obviously placed Castiel by his side. The thought is as scary as it is thrilling. He gets lost in thoughts trying to actually imagine being that old, but he can’t. He’s just stuck staring at the wall where Cas leaned his back and the black winglike smudges it left there. They look like charred remnants of wings partly washed away by water. For some reason he finds them foreboding. Maybe it’s because what Cas said. “Cas, you dickwad, talking about your death is kinda mood killing, you know?” he says grinning and cuffs Cas playfully on the back of his head. It’s bluster to hide the knot of unease inside of him, at where his mind is wandering. He sits up, pushing Cas up with him, and reaches for the champagne. He doesn’t bother with glasses this time, just chugs straight out of the bottle. The bubbles come up in his nose and Cas laughs at him as he sputters but takes the bottle and drinks himself, albeit with a little more finesse.

”I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t think much of the future that way. When I was younger it was all about winning the Olympics. After that― _nothing._ Now? Now it’s been about wooing you and reaching ChHL.” Cas smiles warmly and hands the bottle back. This time Dean manages to drink without getting it all up his nose.

”Wooing me, huh. Well, you got me. And wait a minute. I thought you were still aiming for the Olympics?”

”I was.” Cas face, smeared with its blueish black lines and smudged with red, yellow and purple by their makeout, goes into its blank, unreadable state. “But… who knows what the future brings?” Cas shrugs. There’s something wrong about this. Cas acts nonchalant but Dean gets the distinct feeling he is hiding something. He puts the bottle back down on the floor.

”What’s wrong?”

Cas rubs his neck. A gesture he’s picked up from Dean. “I would love to tell you, Dee, but I’m not authorized to talk about it. As soon as I am, I will tell you.”

”Pffah! I bet this is about Luci somehow. He’s a fucking troublemaker,” Dean says and falls forward on top of Cas who collapses back into the tub laughing, splashing out even more water. All wet Castiel’s hair comes down all the way to cover his eyes. With a smirk, Dean brushes it upward. “Fuck, Cas, you gotta get that mop chopped or you’ll start lookin’ like Sammy real soon. Can’t have that.”

Cas cups his cheeks and looks at him with eyes so blue they seem to be glowing. “Anything for you,” he says and leans in for a kiss. It’s the kind of slow mind-melting kiss with so much emotion in it, Dean’s thoroughly distracted. His heart thumps wildly in his chest and all worries just dissipate. His eyes fall shut and he revels in it. Then Cas slots his mouth over his and breathes through him. When the need for air gets pressing he sucks in air through Cas’ mouth. The switch comes natural nowadays. Dean has grown to love this. It doesn’t feel weird anymore, just so close and intimate. They share breath until both of their heads are spinning and oxygen is scarce enough to leave them panting. “Je t'aime,” Dean whispers quietly, seriously. 

”Я тоже тебя люблю,” Cas answers softly. 

Dean chortles. He has no idea what it means. But the warm and gentle look on Cas’ face it may mean ‘I love you too’. But it might as well mean ‘ I forgot my boots on’ or something. However, Cas speaking Russian is fucking HOT. “Whatta ya say we get washed up, Angel? Get some new water and try not to splash it all on the floor this time?”

”We can _try_. But I’m not making any promises,” Cas answers with a sly wink.

* * *

Dean wipes the walls off first, adamant to get the ominous wing marks off the wall before anything else. After that they refill the bath with fresh water and foam. Cas keeps sniffing the bubble bath bottle so Dean uses its content to gently wash the colour off of Cas with the sponge. If his boyfriend wants to smell like cherry flavoured gum - so be it. He draws the line with the hair. That needs some real shampoo. Cas sits with his back to Dean and lets him shape his hair into horns and mohawks and silly ringlets with the help of the shampoo lather. They’re giggling like little girls and life’s fucking awesome. Dean is as bubbly on the inside as the champagne they had. It’s pure pleasure when they switch and Cas scrubs his back with the scrubby thingie. _And_ Cas gives his scalp a fucking heavenly massage while washing his hair.

Afterwards they end up in bed, making love. It’s sweet and sappy enough to make Dean feel like a bumbling teenager with his first crush again. They totally forget about dinner. Dean couldn’t care less. He can do this stuff now. Take his time and relax. Now when he no longer needs to hide it from Sam. Sure, it’s gonna be rough up ahead when everybody finds out. Today’s small brushes with hostility was likely just a taste of what’s to come. He can’t make himself regret this, though. Whatever lies ahead, it’ll be fine. Today was totally messed up and all-in-all fucking _awesome_. That’s his last thought before he falls asleep, Cas curled up tightly around his back like a safety blanket, fingers entwined over his chest and the vase with the roses moved to the nightstand where Cas can see them.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is another case of the boys not acting according to plan. Cas was supposed to say something that'd make Dean ask something and... yeah. They didn't broach the subject I had planned for them. So I don't know what that means for the story. If it's important or not. We'll see. Next chapter that will be up within an hour also played out differently than I had planned but then stuff happens that I didn't think would happen. That's the best and most frustrating part of writing. Inability to control the characters. If you're a writer yourself you may be familiar with it. It makes it as interesting for me to write as it is for you to read. Or not. But you catch my drift. :)


	76. Reaching the limit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has spent the night with Lucifer. The two of them are still trying to figure out the new direction their relationship has taken. Luci learns a few new things about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Dubcon  
> \- Breath play/[erotic asphyxiation](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erotic_asphyxiation) **WARNING! DO NOT DO THIS!** This may lead to cardiac arrest even when not intended to!! 
> 
> **NOTES:**  
>  This is the chapter I was hesitant to publish. Anyway. I think this, and the issues that will follow this, shows quite well how damaged the two of them are by what they've gone through during their formative years. Theirs is not a sound relationship. But then again, if what you're looking for is healthy relationships and sound mental health in general - how the hell have you been reading this fic so far? O.O (It's over 750 pages this far, dammit!)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**THE ZOHAN**

* * *

Early April 2014

One day before the derby

Lucifer is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Sam can see him watching through the bathroom mirror while he brushes his teeth by the solid marble wash basin. Luci is still only wearing a towel around his waist. His expression is so gentle and full of affection it makes Sam’s heart flutter. Sam watches him back. He’s so _solid_. His body is much more compact in its built than Sam’s. His muscles are toned in the way of those who shape it for martial arts. A strong diaphragm and a layer of body fat for protection makes his stomach look less toned than it is, made for controlled breathing and withstanding repeated punches rather than looking pretty. His chest is covered in hair―the same colour as the hair on his head―and it’s connected with a broad happy trail that Sam tries his best not to think about where it leads. His arms are strong and well muscled and his body has a damp sheen after his shower. Luci is looking so content and relaxed. His gaze as he takes Sam’s body in, is like a physical caress.

Sam loves the way Luci looks at him. It’s well worth leaving the bathroom door open while he showered and dried off. He’d kept himself from glancing towards the door opening to see if Lucifer was watching from the other room. But the moment he had secured his own towel around his waist Luci showed up in the doorway and hadn’t taken his eyes off him since.

Sam gurgles and spits, then puts the toothbrush back in the cup. He’d used Luci’s, still wet from when he had brushed. Usually Sam found the thought of sharing toothbrush repulsive, but not when it’s Luci’s. Luci saunters up to him and Sam turns around and leans against the edge of the basin, spreading his legs in an invitation for Luci to step in between them. It puts them at equal height and Luci steps in close without hesitation, causing another heart-flutter. He tries not to think about that they’re both naked, only two towels separating them. He _tries_ not to think about it, but it's hard when they're so close that he can feel the body heat emanating from the other man. It makes his skin tingle with anticipation. He rests his hands on the basin behind him and gives Luci a lopsided smirk. "You like what you see, Luce?" he says with a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Lucifer hums appreciatively and for a moment his eyes flare with a wicked possessiveness, a predator with easy prey in it's sight, a cat ready to play with the still living mouse it caught. Then the muscles around his eyes relax and it's gone, replaced by the soft serene look he so often has while watching Sam. He tilts his head curiously and raises a hand to stroke along Sam’s stubbled jaw. "You saving it for good luck?"

Sam’s hand flies up to scratch at his long stubble. Right now it's just a tad bit too short to be called a beard. It itches. Many hockey players grow a playoff beard for luck. Sam has always prided himself in not being superstitious. Something that has changed with all the luck he’s been having since he got his rabbit's foot. "Oh. This?" he says slightly embarrassed. "Um, no. It's stupid. I forgot to pack my shaving gear and it grows a lot faster than it used to, these days."

Luci hums and purses his lips thoughtfully. Then he reaches for his toiletry bag on the counter and takes out shaving cream and a Mach 3 razor. He unclips the blade currently attached and clips on a new one from the back of the holder. He puts the razor down, turn on the tap and spurts shaving cream in his hand. Sam feels like his heart swells three sizes when he realises what Lucifer is about to do. He keeps quiet while Luci starts lathering his face, relaxing under the ministrations. 

Lucifer rinses his hand and picks up the razor. He wets it and brings it to Sam’s face. For a moment he hesitates, his eyes flick to meet Sam's in a silent question for permission. Whatever he sees in Sam’s eyes makes his lips quirk into a little smile and go on. He starts shaving up by Sam’s cheekbone. His breath comes in minty warm puffs against Sam's face, as he works deftly in the way of someone who has done this many times before. There’s nothing business like about his movements though. He works slower than he probably has to, with a facial expression of concentration and contentment. He looks like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing in this world. On the inside Sam is smiling a big goofy grin. On the outside he keeps his face still, only moving when Luci gives his face gentle nudges with a finger or shows with his own face what he wants Sam to do. The only sound is the repetitive _scratch, scratch_ by the razor against his skin, the running water, its frequent distortion every time Luci rinses the razor, and their breathing. It feels really good to be pampered and taken care of this way. It's intimate and tender. They both know Sam is capable of shaving himself, but this makes him feel closer to Lucifer. The bubble that always surrounds them when they're alone shrinks to this sole moment and small space.

It’s sensual in a way, but not sexual. That is, until Luci nudges Sam’s chin. Sam closes his eyes and leans his head back, baring his throat. Luci puts the razor by his Adam’s apple and shaves upwards. Sam feels really vulnerable like this and it feels liberating. But then Luci places his hand at the base of Sam’s throat for stability, thumb on one side of his throat and fingers resting along the collarbone on the other side. Sam’s body switches gear on its own behalf. His heart speeds up, body tingling and blood flowing downwards. Before he can stop himself he lets out a breathy sound and tenses up. The razor stops but Luci doesn’t remove his hand from his throat. Instead he hums thoughtfully and strokes his thumb back and forth over the Adam’s apple. Sam keeps his eyes closed and does his best not to move. The guilt and shame he always felt for reacting to Lucifer’s touch this way, comes welling up from old familiar crevices. Especially considering what had triggered it. He feels his cheeks heating up. Luci changes his grip slightly, gripping his throat more firmly and applies more pressure. Not enough to stop blood- or airflow, just restricting it. Sam makes another involuntary breathy sound and his hips buck just the slightest bit. Luci chuckles darkly. “Well how about that, Sammy? And you told me you weren’t into edgeplay,” he says with a teasing voice bordering on mockery.

”Just _shut up_ and gimme a minute, unless you’re gonna do something ‘bout it,” Sam chokes out indignantly and feels the blush spread down to his chest. It’s not Luci’s fault that his brain flashes a mixture of old sex dreams, old memories of time they spent together (most prominently the time Luci almost suffocated him in the car outside the Aquarium) and memories of stuff he’d done with an old lover of his, Tom. Another wave of shame washes over him, this time more because of _what_ turned him on, rather than the fact that he is. This is a bit of a dirty secret for Sam. One that has been growing in magnitude the older he got and one he’d only let Tom see. He doesn’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s some twisted backlash from Michael’s conditioning and his father’s combination of abuse and loving nurture. Maybe it’s purely Luci and what they are ( _What are they?_ ) and what they’ve gone through together. He’s a lot more broken by his past than people seem to think. He knows for sure that he wouldn’t be turned on by just anyone doing this, though. And besides, he wouldn’t let them. (Though he _might_ be turned on by doing this himself to flavour of the week if he tried. It’s not like he never thought about it, but he would never act upon it, hating what it said about him if he did.)

Luci chuckles again and removes his hand. Sam lets out a shuddering breath and holds his position while reining in his traitorous libido. Luci is quiet for a while, when he speaks up he sounds troubled. “I’ll admit it, Sam. I’m surprised. Is this something you let your lovers do to you?”

The lie rolls off his lips with no delay. “Only you. Nobody else.” He doesn’t want to mention Tom in this. His gut tells him it’d be bad news for Tom if he did. Luci hums. If he can tell that Sam is lying he doesn’t call him out on it. The hand comes to rest on his shoulder until Sam has calmed down. Then Luci goes back to shaving, thankfully leaving the topic alone. Sam lifts a hand from the basin and rests it lightly on the side of Luci’s waist above the towel. He drags lightly with his nails and feels muscles contract and goosebumps form. He smiles and opens his eyes. “Are you ticklish, Luce?” he asks with a rascally undertone.

Luci huffs in amusement, eyes sparkling. He arches an eyebrow and meets Sam’s gaze. “You think _now_ is the fitting time to find out?” He holds up the razor and turns it this way and that to accentuate his point. “Granted, it’s not a barber’s knife but if I _am_ ticklish it might be smarter not to experiment while I hold sharp objects to your throat.”

A wide grin spreads on Sam’s lips. “Oh my god. You _are_!”

”Am not. Now be still,” Luci chastises but with a playful glint in his eyes and the corner of his lips tugging in a smile. Sam chuckles silently and complies. As Luci goes back to shaving Sam keeps his fingers dancing lightly over the soft skin of his waist. He revels in the goosebumps it causes. Any time he uses his nails, Luci’s muscles contract and happiness bubbles inside Sam’s chest. He doesn’t push his luck, though. Lucifer is right. He doesn’t want to be full of small paper tissues on his face.

Luci rinses the razor and puts it on the broad basin edge then takes one of the hand towels from its rack and wets it in cold water. He wrings it out and towels Sam’s face off to remove the remaining shaving cream and close the pores. It feels really good with the cold moist fabric against his face. He ends it by taking some form of moisturizer out of his toiletry bag and applying it to Sam’s face. “Done. What do you think?” He asks and takes a step back to enable Sam to turn around and look in the mirror. 

Sam misses the proximity the moment he does, but obligingly he turns around. As soon as he does Luci steps back in and wraps his arms around his waist, leaning his chin on Sam’s shoulder, which is even better. Sam looks at his reflection and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You gave me sideburns?”

”They accentuate your cheekbones,” Luci states and places a kiss on his shoulder that causes a happy flutter in Sam’s gut. Luci watches Sam with a curious gaze in the mirror. The sideburns end just above the earlobes and do indeed flatter his facial bone structure. It looks good on him. Natural. He wonders why he didn’t do this himself sooner. “Wait,” Luci says and reaches for a comb. He quickly combs Sam’s wet hair in a neat hairstyle that won’t cover his forehead when his hair dries and falls forward.

”Tell me, Luce, are you an undercover stylist? Got a secret Zohan lurking inside that chest,” Sam says teasingly with a smile.

Luci snorts. “You compare me to _Adam Sandler_? You wound me. Truly. I’m distraught,” he says dryly.

Sam sniggers and turns around. Luci’s body is warm against his own and his chest hair tickle Sam’s chest. Sam cups his face and leans in for a chaste kiss. He wonders if it ever will stop feeling so exhilarating when Luci reciprocates, if the touch of his soft lips will ever stop sending sparks of electricity through his body and make his heart race. He means to say ‘ _thank you_ ’, instead he breaks the kiss with a cocky lopsided grin and says with a heavy accent, “Nobody messes with the Zohan.”

Luci emits something suspiciously close to a giggle and shakes his head like Sam is a hopeless dork. Instead of a dignifying it with a reply he leans in and kisses Sam again, first on the mouth, then by the base of his neck. Sam can’t hold back a shiver and a smile.

”You’re gonna give me stubble burns now. Can I…?” 

Luci nods and steps back enough to give Sam space, but remains close enough to almost be touching. Sam reaches back for the shaving cream and spurts a blob in his hand. Luci is quiet and keeps looking at him with a secret little smile. He seems so relaxed and at ease but when Sam starts lathering him up he sees how fast Luci’s pulse is racing in the hollow by the base of his throat. Sam turns around, washes his hand and takes the razor. He unclips the razor blade Luci used on him and puts the old one back on. He throws a questioning glance over his shoulder for confirmation. Lucifer just remains watching him with that secret almost smile. _Okay then._ He wets the blade and turns back towards Luci. He holds up the razor to his face and… hovers. He realises he’s nervous. Luci raises an eyebrow in question. “I… I’ve never done this. To someone else, I mean,” Sam says awkwardly.

”So…?”

”I don’t want to hurt you…”

Lucifer laughs silently with wry amusement in a series of short exhales that shakes his shoulders. He takes Sam’s hand that’s not holding the razor and brings it to his chest. There he guides Sam’s fingers to trace the raised skin of an old faded scar, he moves the hand lower to another scar on his stomach, another on his waist, and another on his shoulder. They’re all faded, barely visible, but they can be felt. Sam huffs in self-deprecating amusement. “Yeah. I get it. Okay,” he says with a smile, heart fluttering. 

He starts shaving, putting all his concentration into it, frequently rinsing the razor. It’s just as intimate shaving Luci as it was being shaved. He curses under his breath when he nicks the skin. Luci just chuckles in amusement at his consternation. It only happens once. For the rest, it’s almost meditative. Luci’s hands rest at his waist, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs. Everything about this feels tender, personal, sacred. A moment in time just for them, with no walls up. Maybe that’s what‘s got Lucifer’s heart racing. Maybe it’s just Sam. Sam wishes he could read the older man’s thoughts, just to know how he makes Luci feel. If he feels the same warmth in his chest when Sam is near. If his skin tingles long afterwards by Sam’s touch. If he feels free and whole and right when they’re together no matter how messed up things are. If he is just as happy and content.

Sam finishes. He rinses the razor and wets the towel in cold water just as Luci had done. He dabs Luci’s face with it and inspects him to see if he’s missed a spot. He hasn’t. The little nick on Luci’s jaw has stopped bleeding by itself. He shuts the water off and applies the moisturizing cream. Then cups Luci’s cheeks with a soft smile. Luci’s looking at him with infinite warmth that makes Sam feel as if he’s got a helium balloon inside his ribcage. Luci leans forward and strokes his cheek against Sam’s. “No stubble burn this time, Sammy,” he says. Sam can feel the smile against his cheek. Then Luci’s lips are upon his in a tender kiss.

Sam has spent a great deal of time during his life thinking about Lucifer, trying to understand him. He has analyzed all of their meetings over and over. Lucifer’s actions are hard to grasp sometimes, they can appear contradictory at times. Since their first kiss, Sam has thought a lot of how it happened and Luci’s reactions. He has thought a lot about Luci’s actions the other night when Cas and Dean finally came together. How Luci didn’t want to be boxed in and wouldn’t allow him to reciprocate touches, how he stopped Sam from deepening their kisses because he was too drunk, saying‘ _My senses are too dull._ ’ Luci had needed quite some time to really be comfortable with kissing to begin with, yet now he’d initiate it and by all appearance enjoying it. From all Sam knew of the man, he had come to a couple of conclusions. Luci had major trust issues and an extreme need for control. You could be fooled by his sometimes impulsive behaviour but if you looked closer, he still controls the situation. Their spur of the moment excursions, the vacation he took Cas on for his birthday. They might not have been planned, but he initiated it and kept control. Any time Sam had forced new developments on him, he had tensed up and needed time to adjust. Luci doesn’t like to be dominated. You could not force Lucifer to do anything he doesn’t want to, but maybe you could make him want it if you were patient? And patience Sam has in abundance. He’s sure Lucifer doesn’t know exactly where his limits are, when it comes to physical intimacy of this kind and neither does he show any signs of wanting to find out. 

In a way it’s much worse now. Especially since Lucifer on two separate occasions (playing with his nipples at the club and taking the chokehold today) had intentionally touched Sam in ways that caused arousal without intention of following through. Sam can’t figure out why. It doesn’t make sense. Since he allowed himself to admit that he wants Luci sexually as well as in every other way, it’s harder to rein in his libido and impure thoughts about the man. He may never get to be with Luci that way, and that’s okay, just frustrating. But if Sam wants more, he’d have to push for it. Carefully. His heart rate speeds up in anticipation and apprehension.

Sam leans back against the basin again, spreading his legs wide and sinking down a bit. Both to make it possible for Luci to stand really close, at the same time as it puts Sam’s head lower than Lucifer’s. It’s a tactical move based on all the conclusions he’d made. Spreading his legs like this leaves him open and vulnerable plus it gives Luci a more dominant position based on height. It’s not the first time he’d used deliberate manipulative body language in the seduction game. He reaches out with one hand and caresses the back of Luci’s neck with gentle fingers, keeping the other hand behind himself on the edge of the basin. Luci steps closer, leans his forehead against Sam’s and closes his eyes. Sam's finger-tips trail up and down, first just along his neck, then down along his spine. He feels Lucifer shiver, and then again when he scratches lightly with his nails on the way up. He keeps his touch on the slow and sensual spectrum and is rewarded with a small hum of appreciation. Luci rests his hands on the basin on either side of Sam, passively enjoying the touch. When Sam trails his fingers to Luci’s side and up towards his armpit the hair on his arms stands on end and he emits a little breathy sound that Sam thinks might have been involuntary. 

Sam tries to keep still, not to show how much it excites him to be allowed to touch and have Luci react to it. His breath comes out a bit warbly and gives him away. It doesn’t matter because Luci’s minty exhales are slightly unsteady too. Sam wants to kiss him. He _really_ wants to kiss him. He is not sure how to go about doing it without spooking Luci to withdrawing again. “Luce…?”

”Mhm….?”

Okay. Here we go. “Have you ever... Um. Have you ever French kissed anyone?” Sam asks, hoping to make his intentions known.

Luci opens his eyes and leans his head back a bit so he can watch Sam’s face. He hums thoughtfully. Sam friggin’ loves that sound. Dean might number Sam’s ‘bitchfaces’ but Luci has just as many version of hums as Sam has facial expressions of disapproval. Luci draws a deep breath and lets it out. “No, I haven’t. But I’ve been French kissed.” 

”Isn’t that the same thing?” Sam asks and keeps up his slow caresses of Luci’s back.

Luci smirks and shivers again as Sam finds another sweet spot just by the edge of the towel. “Not even remotely the same, Sammy- _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester. You want me to tell you about it?”

Sam nods. 

”Very well. Me and Mikey were inspecting one of the _Porodica_ run high class brothels. I was 17 and still in training, Mikey was 20. We were there to check up on a suspicious case of embezzlement that turned out to just be poor bookkeeping. The money was all there. _Don’t stop._ ” Sam’s hand had halted and he can’t hold back the grin at Luci’s disgruntled protest. He starts up his exploration of Luci’s back again and Luci takes up his little story. “Anyway. After our duty was done, Mikey wanted to blow off some steam so we occupied one of the suites and had a bunch of beautiful girls sent to us.”

”Wait. Both of you in the same room? And I didn’t think you… did you… do you…?”

Luci huffs a laugh and shrugs a shoulder. His lips curl in an arrogant smirk. “If I did, would you be jealous, Sammy?” he asks, the tone of his voice is slightly mocking.

”No.” _YES!_

Luci sees the lie for what it is and huffs in amusement, but he radiates an air of being pleased and gets that intense possessive predator-to-prey look in his eyes again that makes heat curl low in Sam’s abdomen. The look fades quickly. The heat doesn’t. Sam hopes Luci didn’t feel how his cock twitched. It’s a slim hope with how close they’re standing.

”Mikey liked having me around when he fucked somebody. Maybe he thought it would inspire me to follow his example. Maybe he just wanted an emotional connection to someone while he was at it.”

”That’s sick.”

”Is it really? Is it sick to long for intimacy and lovemaking, rather than a pointless fuck? I don’t think so. Yet for us it comes with a complimentary death sentence to anyone we choose to share that intimate connection with, unless we give our affections to each other. And the _Porodica_ is a boys only kind of club. I find no fault in Michael for wanting me near as long as he didn’t try to involve me. As for the second question you couldn’t make yourself ask properly…” Luci smirks. “...I appreciate beauty, Sam. And I do occasionally enjoy watching skilled girls pole dance. Some of them are true athletes. But on that particular occasion one of the girls tried to entice me into other activities than just watching.”

”What happened?”

Luci snorts in contempt. ”She bent down to where I was sitting, cupped my face and stuck her dirty mudmonkey whore tongue in my mouth.” He makes a disgusted face.

That does indeed make the difference between kissing and being kissed. “What’d you do?”

Luci’s face turns unreadable. He raises a hand and strokes a strand of damp hair out of Sam’s face then traces the line of his cheekbone. His eyes flick between Sam’s eyes and mouth and his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Pulse racing, Sam takes it as permission. He licks his lips and leans in for a kiss. Luci’s lips are slightly parted. He keeps his eyes open and Sam can feel how tense he becomes when Sam experimentally lets the tip of his tongue dart out to glide along the seam of Luci’s lips, coaxing them to part more and let him in. Very hesitantly, they part and there’s the wet tip of Luci’s tongue sliding along his tentatively. It’s uncertain and careful, like Luci is ready to withdraw his tongue at any second. Without meaning to Sam raises his hand and hooks it to the side of Luci’s neck, just under the cheekbone, to stop him from doing that. He feels Luci’s pulse frantic jackhammering. Sam’s is too, but possibly for another reason as more heat pools low. He withdraws his tongue to lick along Luci’s lower lip and gently suck it into his mouth. Luci lets him and Sam’s friggin jubilant. There is no stopping the butterflies throwing a party in his belly. He slips his tongue into Luci’s warm mouth again, this time Luci is a tad bit less unsure in his response. He drags his tongue over the top and underside of Sam’s tongue, like he is comparing the difference. Tries out the sensation of relaxing and tensing his tongue against Sam’s. Sam licks along the backside of his teeth by the roof of his mouth, a sensation he himself enjoys.

It’s not a passionate kiss. Not a battle for dominance nor the technically best kiss Sam ever had. But it still makes him tingle all over, his stomach to swoop and his cock to go to full mast in no time. There’s never been anyone he’d wanted to kiss as badly as Lucifer. Passionate or not, the both of them are nevertheless breathing laboriously when they break apart. Luci’s breath coming in hot minty puffs on Sam’s lips. There’s no chance he isn’t aware of Sam’s arousal now. Sam’s erection digs into the knot on Luci’s towel, but he’s not pulling away and that is another victory. “I pulled my gun and shot the whore in the stomach,” Luci says against Sam’s lips, finally answering the question. “It took her hours to die.”

”Oh _Jesus_!” Sam recoils in shocked horror but Luci follows, a hand darting to thumb over Sam’s nipple at the same time as Luci’s mouth is back on his. Horror is wiped away by a wave of arousal and he relaxes. Luci leans back and looks at him. Sam can’t get a reading on him.

”Sometimes I don’t think you realise who you’re messing with, Sam. You should know by now. After all, you saw me kill a man for you, _in front of you_ , when you were fourteen. Yet you act surprised.” Luci’s voice is calm and curious.

”You did? When?”

Luci tilts his head curiously. “You don’t remember?” Sam shakes his head and shudders as Luci’s hand yet again thumbs his nipple teasingly. “A couple of pawns had you up against the wall by the Free Will ice hall.”

”You killed him? I thought he was unconscious…”

Luci sniggers. “I killed all of them, Sammy,” he says, amused now. “I told you you’d never have to see them again, didn’t I? Can’t have simple mudmonkeys touching my precious boy king, now can I?”

Sam’s head reels from the information, as he processes. He _is_ horrified thinking about people dying because of him, thugs or not. But underneath the surface, deep down in his core, something else comes bubbling up, something dark and gratified. There’s a vindictive satisfaction in knowing that people that had fucked up his life got to pay for it. He tries to push away the warm feeling it gives him, but Lucifer sees right through him and a pleased smile spreads on the older man’s face. “That’s my boy king,” he says and leans back in for a kiss. This time it’s him who licks the seam of Sam’s lips asking for entrance. Sam does not hesitate to oblige. He closes his eyes and just sinks into it, letting Luci figure out what to make of what he’s doing. It feels like he’s being rewarded for being twisted and dark inside. But Sam isn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. He has wanted this since… If he’s honest with himself he has probably wanted this since he was fourteen. That moment in the car when he asked if Luci was going to kiss him. A part of him had been disappointed by the no he got then. It would have been so _wrong_ if Luci had done it, considering that he was fourteen and Luci twenty one back then. But everything about their friendship-romance-relationship- _whatever_ had always been wrong yet felt good and right.

He circles Luci with his arms and lets out a needy breathy sound which makes Luci break the kiss and lean their foreheads together. Sam wants to curse loudly although he never would have thought there’d come a day he’d be standing almost naked holding an equally undressed Lucifer. They’re both panting, Sam more so. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Not now when his skin is crawling with pure _want_. Not when his lips are kiss-swollen and his cheeks and chest are warm and probably flushed. Not when his erection is digging into Luci without him shying away from it. He does not want to open his eyes and see that Lucifer doesn’t want him back just as much. 

Lucifer’s hands stroke up and down his arms slowly. “We should get dressed,” he says quietly. Sam hates how collected he sounds when Sam’s absolutely wrecked.

”Yeah. Sure. Um. Just gimme a minute to calm down,” Sam says hoarsely.

Luci sniggers. “We’re in no hurry. Take an hour. Take two.” Then he circles Sam’s waist and kisses him again. No tongue this time, just sweet semi-chaste kisses that still feel _oh-so-good_ and do nothing to quench Sam’s arousal or the buzzing warm feeling humming through his body.

”That’s not helping. I’m sorry, I… shit. _Luce_.”

”No. You’re not sorry. In fact, I can feel that you’re the very opposite of sorry,” Lucifer says, his voice carrying notes of laughter.

”Yeah okay. I am not.”

Luci is quiet for a moment. ”You’re beautiful like this,” he says at last.

_What?_ “Like how?”

”Debauched, self-controlled, tethering on the edge.”

”Is that why you tease me?”

Luci’s hum is non-committal. “Tell me something, Sammy. I don’t quite understand something. You love to hold power―”

”I don’t lo―”

”Yes you do, Sam. You revel in it. Don’t lie to me. So what I don’t understand is this…” Lucifer’s hand circles Sam’s throat and squeezes at the same time as he leans on Sam, putting his weight more firmly along the line of Sam’s body, forcing him to lean back on the marble basin. Excitement, an ounce of fear, and unbridled arousal zing through his body like electricity. A moan escapes him and his hip jerks. “Look at me, Sam Winchester.” Sam opens his eyes. He has no doubt they’re glazed with lust right now and he feels exposed and embarrassed. Luci’s expression is one of wonder and curiosity, like he’s been faced with an alluring mystery. “Keep your hands behind you,” Luci commands. He leans in and experimentally sucks Sam’s lower lip into his mouth. His other hand strokes Sam’s side, then pinches a nipple lightly. Sam moans again and rolls his hips against Luci. Luci lets go of his lip and looks down to Sam’s hip. “It just seems out of character for you. This is the very opposite of power,” he says curiously. Sam’s panting both from how turned on he is and having his airway partly constricted. Luci hasn’t told him to stop grinding against him so keeps seeking friction. Luci’s hand comes down and tugs his towel open. It’s prevented to fall to the floor by being stuck between the basin and Sam’s ass, but now he’s fully exposed and embarrassment increases tenfold. He’s leaking precome all over Luci’s towel and can almost imagine he can feel an erection underneath it. Luci studies his cock with open curiosity.

” _Jeezus_ , Luce,” he croaks out, voice rough and dark.

Lucifer looks up at him again, tilts his head and hums. “Why, Sammy? Why does this get you going?”

” _ShitShitShit_!” Sam’s mortified. He doesn’t want to put words on it. Luci squeezes his throat harder and lets up the pressure again. “ _Whose am I, Luce? Please…_ ”

Luci’s eyebrows shoot skywards in surprise. “Oh, so that’s what this is?” He purses his lips and looks thoughtful. Sam wants to scream in frustration. “Did I not tell you not to let anyone claim you?”

”Fuck you!” Sam spits out indignantly. He’s been claimed by Luci for years, he wishes the other man would do it physically too. That his wish is laid bare like this, feels degrading. Not that it stops the thrumming of want coursing through him. It’s a fight not to let go of the basin behind him to drag Luci closer by the hips to rut wantonly.

Luci chuckles. He strokes Sam’s back down to the roundness of his ass cheek, tugs, so that he can get his hand firmly around it. It frees the towel and makes Sam slide down a little bit further. He’s arched back uncomfortably, the edge of the basin digging into his back. On top of it all it makes Sam’s erection slide inside the glitch in Luci’s towel and connect with the underside of his balls. Judging by how disconcerted Luci suddenly looks he did not plan for that to happen. Sam makes a needy sound. To hell with not rutting wantonly. If Luci tells him to stop he will. Sam feels how Luci’s balls contract every time Sam’s cock slide against them. Luci’s whole body is tense, but he does not step away and Sam does not stop.

”I’m sorry. Luce. _Please_ , come on say it, _comeonepleaseLuceI’msorryjustsayit!_ ” Sam rambles. He isn’t even sure Lucifer knows what Sam wants him to say. He’s awash with shame and guilt for how uncomfortable Lucifer looks, and so _goddam turned on_ he knows he might actually come from just this.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything. He seems to make up his mind about something and leans in to kiss Sam. His breath is laboured. He squeezes Sam’s ass, pulling him in with the rhythm Sam is rutting. Sam’s cock glides up alongside Luci’s and _Holy shit! He’s hard too!_ Sam fucking keens into Luci’s mouth. Luci increases the pressure around Sam’s throat, making it critical. Air is cut off and his pulse is pounding in his ears. The fight not to remove his hands from behind him turns into a fight against self-preservation. His vision shrinks to mere pinpricks, he’s going to pass out any second while feeling the glorious slide of cock against cock. Then the hand is removed and air rushes back into his lungs making his head spin. He comes with a strangled cry and jack-knifes from the force of it, slamming his head into Luci’s collarbone. Contorting with each pulse of come. It feels _amazing_. To come that easily from almost nothing. It’s mental stimulation that pushed him over more than anything. Luci taking him over so fully. For a brief moment there’s just pleasure.

 

 

Then reality comes back. Awareness of what just happened and how fucked up his desire is. How uncomfortable Luci had been. Shit. Luci is trembling. Sam does not look at him. He can feel distress coming off Luci in waves. Whatever limit Luci had―it had been overshot. It may be both of their fault, but Sam feels responsible for baiting him. Guilty for wanting more. For taking advantage of Luci’s curiosity. It had gone over the limit so fast. Sperm is running down Luci’s leg. Sam’s come. Sam turns his head and puts his ear to Luci’s chest. He hears how hard and fast the heart is beating. It’s quiet except for their rough breathing. Then it comes, quietly, in a voice more unsteady and uncertain than Sam has ever heard Lucifer sound. ”Do you… do you need that from me?” That distressed note in Lucifer’s voice cuts Sam like the sound of nails screeching on a chalkboard. 

”Shit, I’m sorry, Luce. I didn’t mean to―”

”Sssch…” Luci hushes him, pulls him up into a more comfortable position, one arm circles his waist and the other strokes his hair, comforting him. It’s like Luci’s grounding himself in soothing Sam’s mounting anguish. 

There are so many questions bouncing around in Sam’s head right now. One more pressing than the others. “You’re hard.” It’s not a question but it’s meant as one.

Luci sounds calm again when he answers. “My body reacts to touch like everyone else's.”

His _body_. The choice of words is significant. His body, not him. Sam feels like the biggest dick in the world. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

”You warned me.”

”I fucked up. You didn’t like it.”

”Sammy.” Luci tilts Sam’s head up with a finger again to make him meet his gaze. It’s soft and concerned. “I don’t…” He draws a deep breath and compresses his lips when he exhales. “I’m not sure what I feel about what just happened. I know that I like how you look when you’re like that. It’s beautiful. It’s fascinating. You’re extremely beautiful when you’re aroused, even more so when you climax.” Luci huffs. “Don’t give me those sad puppy eyes, Sammy. We’ll figure it out. I can tell you this, though. If it were up to me you’d never wear clothes.” Sam lets out a little startled laughter and smiles, somewhat relieved. “And another thing,” Luci says and strokes Sam’s arms up and down gently. “I really could do _this_ for hours,” he finishes with a hint of humour in his voice and wets his lips before he leans his head in for a kiss. All the butterflies are back in Sam’s belly again as their tongues meet. His freakout is postponed for now.

* * *

After Sam had come, it was a lot easier to hold arousal back and they spend a full hour kissing, trailing gentle fingers over each other’s bodies. Luci allows any touch above the waist and has spots that’ll make him groan in pleasure, shiver, or suck in breath. It’s fantastic to be allowed to touch so freely. Sam’s hyper aware of every single response Luci’s body gives. Luci, Sam concludes, loves sensual, slow touches, but can at times get a bit grabby and demanding himself, something he doesn’t like when Sam does. He favours kisses with shy brushes of their tongues. He likes when Sam nibbles with a light drag of teeth over his skin but doesn’t like to be licked or sucked anywhere but the mouth. He really likes to be caressed with lips or with the cheek. Oh. And he’s _definitely_ ticklish. It requires using nails to incite such reactions (possibly digging fingers in too, but Sam hasn’t tried.) He likes when Sam scrapes his nails through the hair on his chest but tenses up in apprehension when Sam runs his thumbs over his nipples and they stiffen. The tension is sky high and at the same time very relaxed. At times they get awkward and giggly, both of them. Luci might have said it’s out of character for Sam to be turned on by a choke hold, but he’s one to talk. Lucifer is never awkward and giggly like this. All in all, Sam knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s deeply in love with Lucifer, in every sense imaginable. From feeling a deep spiritual connection, to companionship, trust, excitement, being thrilled and feeling safe and loved. Sometimes Luci scares him, but he likes that too, in some twisted way. The fear thrills him. Now, though, now he isn’t afraid.

He’s dressed in only his jeans. Luci hands him a white wifebeater to put on then walks into the bedroom only to come back with a white dress shirt. He takes it from the hanger and holds it up, helping Sam put it on. It strains a bit over the shoulders but the fabric is soft, crisp, and smooth. Sam glimpses the brand without recognising it. He suspects it’s something his own wallet wouldn’t be able to afford. Luci comes around to stand in front of him, buttoning each button with slow care, like he is savouring the moment. He leaves a few buttons at the top undone and lifts Sam’s arm, without words asking him to hold it there. Sam complies with a little smile playing at his lips. The sleeves are a tad bit too short so Luci rolls it up to just under the elbow. He nudges the arm to make Sam drop it and a short look at the other arm makes Sam raise it so Luci can repeat the process. When it’s done he smooths out the fabric over Sam’s shoulders and chest and goes back to the bedroom. He comes back with a couple of belts and a watch that he puts on Sam’s wrist. He holds the belts up to Sam like he’s considering, then chooses a brown embossed leather basket weave belt from Dolce & Gabbana. Sam had managed to catch the brands on the other two belts too, Gucci and Ralph Lauren. Sam chuckles as Luci threads the belt into the belt loops of his jeans. “Dude, you’ve got the wrong brother. Dean is the closeted snob in our family.”

Luci snorts. “You like to be pampered, Sammy. Don’t pretend otherwise.” He does. He’s enjoying the hell out of this. Part of him prefers to wear plaid shirts and workwear. Comfortable and casual. And he’s not discontent with living in a simple apartment and staying in shitty motels when he travels. But all this luxury that surrounds him now? A good sized suite, calling room service, wearing clothes that reek of money? He likes that too, so sue him. “And you can keep the watch and belt. They suit you.”

Sam looks at the watch. It’s a nice watch. He doesn’t recognise the brand. ‘A. Lange & Söhne’. “Thanks. Don’t you need the watch yourself?”

”I’ve got about twenty more, Sam,” Luci says with amusement. Sam whistles. He may not recognise the brand but it ain’t no friggin Casio.

”How come you don’t live in a friggin mansion if you can afford that? I would if I had the money.”

”You would?” Luci asks and tilts his head, looking at him with a thoughtful half-squint that reminds a lot about Cas’ mannerism.

”Yeah, I would. Beach side. Look. I’m fine with having nothing, right? But I want a big house with a big pool and a big yard for my dogs just like everybody else. Nothing wrong with having dreams, right?”

Luci purses his lips in thought. His eyes are smiling. “I’d like that. As for not wallowing in luxury? I grew up with it. But I appreciate freedom more, and Angel Falls has been a place of relative freedom for me. Did I tell you Cassie used to work for us?”

”Cas? No, you didn’t.”

”He was in training to become a croat.”

”No shit?” Sam says, making big eyes. “That’d explain why he was so hung up on warning me about you guys. I mean them. I mean. _You know._ ”

Luci laughs at Sam’s awkward, verbal stumblings. “Indeed. Feel free to speak with him on all matters related to the _Porodica_. The more you know, the better.”

”Can you tell me more right away?” Sam finds the whole business as fascinating as it is exhilarating. It also feels a bit unreal. Like he’s been thrown into some kind of mafia movie all the sudden. He knows he should be scared shitless of what might be in store for them. He knows he’s stupid because he feels excited about it.

Lucifer sniggers and shakes his head at Sam’s enthusiasm. “Very well, greenhorn. Let's order breakfast and then I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **End Notes:** Those of you who don’t get the Zohan reference, here’s the link to the trailer: [You don’t mess with the Zohan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_I1cW14Qlg). I swear, the movie is so ridiculous it makes it a disgrace to laugh at it. I’m a disgrace because I friggin’ writhed in laughter. *embarrassed blush*
> 
> Another note on Luci strangling Sam. He should know better. There is no safe way to do what he did. NO SAFE WAY. No joke. And he should know this. I don't mean through a sexual point of view. He should know the danger of strangulation and choking even under "controlled" forms. My best guess, since he didn't do it until his limit was overshot, that it _was_ a self-defensive reaction. _I don't know_. Fucking bastards acting on their own accord. Hopefully this won't occur again in this story. Obviously a symbolic hold is enough to set Sam off anyway.
> 
> I might add for those of you who haven't read chapter 2 in The Sexual Education of Sam Winchester and chapter 14 and 18 in the Croatoan that Tom is an older man that has partially acted as a stand in for Sam's sexual interest in Lucifer. Sam has tried to keep these thoughts at bay but gotten some slight release for them through Tom in the past. (Now you know.)
> 
> Please comment.


	77. All in your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Dean both struggle with thoughts that threatens to distract them from the upcoming game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter**  
>   
>  This is the part of the Samifer plot-line that most likely will remain unresolved until a possible sequel.
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**NEW BURDENS**

* * *

Early April 2014

The day of the derby

Luci sits on the edge of the bed with his head bent down and his hands loosely fisted in his hair. His head is spinning with thoughts about what happened with Sam yesterday. Once Sam left, Luci’s brain started dissecting what happened and this nagging feeling of inadequacy and self-doubt started to grow. It’s not where his thoughts should be right now. They should be focussed on the game ahead. Yet they circle back to Sam over and over. He’d never given much thought about his low sex drive. Never really seen it as a problem, until now. What he had felt in the bathroom… It was contradictory. And for once he wishes his head and body could fall in line with each other, because right now he feels… deficient. Stymied. Maybe he’s broken? Maybe there _is_ something wrong with him? Maybe Mikey had been right all along, and he needs to get laid to understand. Just tough it out. Rinse and repeat until he got used to it. His body is obviously up to the task. But the thought of actually _doing it_ , even with Sam, makes his skin crawl.

This feels so foreign to him. He wants to give Sam everything he needs. Everything he wants. And he feels that maybe he can’t and that just _irks_ him. His lack of sexual interest has up until now been a strength that kept him from being distracted, and all the sudden it feels like a weakness. What use is he if he can’t please his… He doesn’t have a label to put on Sam. Sam has given himself over by his own free will. Sam belongs to him. The end. That gives him a responsibility to please Sam. But how? He has never before had to tackle the feeling of not being good enough like this. Not from within. It’s different from the powerless feeling he had about protecting Sam before, or when they killed his Baby. That was outside forces too big for him to handle. Being torn between loyalty to two counterparts that don’t match up.

All he wants from Sam is to have him around, where he can look at him, listen to him, and touch him. If Sam’s near he feels content and whole. He wants to know everything about Sam. Have him talk about every little detail Luci had missed of his life. He wants to see his boy king wield the power he’s meant to hold, to revel in it. 

These last couple of weeks their relationship had grown more and more physical, culminating yesterday. He’d found out that with Sam, he likes things he never thought he would like. Like this kissing business. It had taken some time to get used to just kissing Sam on the mouth. He’d felt some apprehension about taking that further. To his surprise, he really enjoys the sensation of Sam’s tongue against his. It felt closer, coupled with a warm sensation in his chest and gut. It doesn’t make his nether regions respond like it did Sam’s, though.

Sam, when aroused, is as beautiful as always. He showed sides of himself Luci hasn’t seen before and wants to see more of. He wants to see all of Sam. He’s curious. That’s why he had pushed it, and pushed it too far over the limit of what he himself feels is acceptable. 

What he’d done in that moment, was like the training to withstand pain or seeing one of his brothers in pain. You had to shove all your negative emotions―fear, disgust, horror, distress―into the back of your mind and take care of the problem at hand, ignoring any physical discomfort until you were safe.

Luci goes through what happened in his head. Sam’s reaction when he laid his hand at the base of his throat had been instant and startling. It had amused and tickled Luci’s curiosity. Sam is averse to being dominated and forced. He is strong and rebellious. So why get aroused?

Sam’s presence and touch is liquid sunshine, happiness and contentment. It is thrilling, pleasurable, and he could feel Sam’s touches on his skin, crackling like Pop Rocks candy long after the hand is removed. Sam is no longer a boy. He is a man and since he came to Luci and gave himself over, he’s become increasingly demanding and pushy. He is carefully but patiently trying to coax Luci into giving him what he wants. Luci is well aware of this. Sam is throwing nuts and holding out his hands like he was feeding a squirrel.

Sam asked him for a French kiss. Draped it in another question. Didn’t matter, Luci understood. As repulsive as Luci found his first experience of _that_ to be, he decided to grant the wish. What tipped the scale in Sam’s favour, was the intense jealousy Sam displayed (and tried to hide) at the thought of Luci giving what Sam wanted from him, to someone else. Luci’s own possessiveness flared hot in response. So Luci gave him the green light and was surprised to find how much he liked the unfamiliar experience. The taste of Sam, their breaths mingled together, the slick feeling their tongues. It didn’t feel unclean and messy _at all_. He hadn’t been lying to Sam when he said he could do it for hours. He hadn’t even been bothered by Sam’s arousal, even if he himself didn’t rise to the occasion. That’s why, when Sam recoiled in horror, he had used Sam’s arousal to manipulate him. Not his usual M.O. for obvious reasons, but effective.

First of all, he didn’t want to stop. Second of all, he didn’t want Sam to be so squeamish about the suffering of ordinary rabble. A lowly whore’s death, lingering as it had been, should not be a concern to his boy king. He wants Sam to use the power he’s meant to hold, without second thoughts and regrets. They are about to go to war and chances are, that if they survive long enough, Sam too will have to kill, if nothing else, to protect himself. He couldn’t hesitate when the time came or he’d die. If that meant training him like Pavlov’s fucking dog, so be it. So when Sam shied away he chased after, kissing him and stimulating a sensitive nipple, keying in arousal and Sam getting what he wants, with the picture of Luci killing a whore foremost in Sam’s brain.

He told Sam that he’d killed his tormentors. The righteous anger paired with hot vindictive satisfaction he’d seen in Sam’s eyes then, had ignited a scorching kind of satisfaction in him. He wanted Sam to have that revenge. To see him stand there, drenched in his enemies blood, making them pay for all the suffering they so unjustly had thrust upon him (Mikey excluded). It excites Luci to no end. Just as competing does, playing hockey, _winning_. Only stronger, like coruscating heat in his chest. Kissing Sam again only made it burn hotter―sealing a deal. Making it an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

And so, he had pushed. He didn’t want Sam to get grabby and demanding, so he’d ordered Sam to keep his hands to himself while he’d experimented with Sam’s arousal. God knows he’s beautiful like that. Muscles trembling, flushed, eyes glazed, fighting to hold it back not to make Luci uncomfortable yet _gagging_ for more. When Luci didn’t stop him from grinding against him he’d continued. Seeking pleasure. The curiosity won over the discomfort, even though his body responded to the repeated stimulation of his groin, making his skin crawl unpleasantly. He wanted to know why Sam had been so turned on by the chokehold Luci took on him. He removed the towel to really look at Sam. He’d seen other men in this state before but never been interested enough to _look_. 

Sam wanted him to say Sam’s his. That Sam belongs to him. To choke him, make him fight not to fight it, as he had done so valiantly in the car all those years ago. Sam’s want had turned into _need_ and curiosity paired with a wish to spoil Sam and grant him his craving, had made Luci push himself further. Too far. It had been a conscious decision to not backtrack. Physically, the sensation of Sam’s cock rubbing against his balls was pleasant enough for himself to feel that tightening in his groin that meant he was building up for ejaculation. The inside of his head, though, was screaming and recoiling in horror at the invasion. He walled that feeling up as well as he could and let things run its course, after all, it was he who pushed. Once in his life, he could try. See what it was all about. If maybe he just needed to get with the program. 

At that point, he’d been split. His physical body kept sending him signals it liked what was happening. His emotional center the opposite, frantically telling him to defend himself. He squeezed Sam’s throat harder, hard enough to actually kill him should Luci not let go. And Sam just let it happen. Handed over full control over life and death in Luci’s hands, while it spiked Sam’s arousal. This too gave Luci split input. On one hand, it was heady as hell, Sam wanting him to take over his very life like that. Handing him the ultimate power by his own free will. But the thought of Sam letting _anyone else_ do that to him, infuriated and frightened Luci. When Luci let up his grip, Sam came. Pain and ecstasy look very similar but the blissful euphoria on Sam’s face directly afterwards, though, was a sight Luci will treasure forever. 

However, as soon as the physical stimulation ended Luci’s mind took over, sending out a distress call. He’s afraid Sam will expect and demand this from him. He has this _Never Again!_ feeling creeping all over. He had to ask. As soon as he did, Sam was the one awash with guilt and regret. _His_ distress overtook Luci’s who grounded himself in comforting Sam. Once his own feeling of discomfort receded, they ended up… well, basically making out. Slow and sensual and _that_ Luci enjoys immensely. He wants more of that without risking it going too far again. This is not a dilemma he’d ever imagined himself having. Self-doubt is for lesser beings. Yet here he is, feeling discomposed and defective.

He misses Michael more than ever. If Mikey hadn’t chosen _Otac_ over him, he’d been able to talk to him about this. Mikey might not know what to do about it, but at least it’d give Luci a chance to defuse without keeping up appearance of being the strong unruffled leader. Cassie? No matter how close they’d become, he’s still Castiel’s Captain. He can’t show this weakness to him. The headspace self-doubt places you in, paired with the mantle of leadership is a very lonely place. He briefly wonders how Dean has managed to hold his head so high, who has struggled with this sort of thinking all his life… Come to think of it, it’s quite admirable. Luci wishes he had Dean’s ability to cope.

* * *

Dean sits on the floor in the tiny bathroom of the motel room he shares with Sam. The shower is still running but the water has long since gone cold, it’s the sound Dean’s after. He has his arms curled around his knees and his head leaned back against the wall, a towel over it to keep the light out. Just when he thought everything was finally alright, they had to run into Cas’ ex. “ _He makes you think you mean the world to him and then he just leaves without a word of warning._ ” Sure, Cas had assured him that the guy was just a mark, a temporary hook up that meant nothing, to begin with. They’d been together for less than a week. No biggie. Right? Right. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about what the guy had said?

Worse still are the things Cas said about his “real” ex. The man he claimed to love and just as easily left. Faked his own fucking death to get out. Not even given the guy a chance to decide for himself if the sacrifice was something he wanted. “ _There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him._ ” 

Except to stay…

And then Cas said “ _Anything for you._ ”

Dean might not have thought of it when he said it, but now when his thoughts caught up with him, it just sounded… well, it wasn’t good.

Dean’s stomach is in knots. “ _Fuck_!” Why couldn’t he just leave it be? Right now, things are great after all. Cas loves him, Sam is fine with it, he doesn’t have to hide. He trusts Cas with his life. Then why is it so hard to believe Cas won’t desert him? Why can’t all this ugly fucking doubt just _leave. him. **the fuck**. alone_!

_I bet Lucifer never has any trouble like this. Always so fucking full of himself,_ Dean thinks bitterly. Right now he envies the guy. One gotta give the guy credit for the ability to always believe in himself. Stuck up and arrogant as the bastard might be, he probably hasn’t doubted himself one day in his life and _that’s_ a fucking art form!

The phone on the floor beside him begins playing. “ _I’m in love with an angel, heaven forbid...Made me a believer with the touch of her skin…_ ” It’s Cas. Dean hasn’t changed the ringtone since Cas changed it for him. Dean removes the towel from over his head and answers. “Hey, Angel, what’s up?”

”I call to inform you that the threat of a Sam-look-alike-crisis has been averted.”

Dean smiles, feeling tension ease up. “You got a haircut?”

”I did. I hope you like mohawks,” Cas deadpans in a serious voice.

Dean laughs, more tension bleeding away. “No you _didn’t._ ”

Cas chuckles. “You’re right. I didn’t,” his smile carries strongly through the phone. “Hold on. I’ll send you a picture…” Cas does something, there’s scraping noises, then silence. Then Dean’s phone beeps for incoming message. Dean opens it and grins broadly at the selfie of Cas. His hair is once again short and fixed in that deliberate bedhead that Dean loves so much. 

”You look like a hedgehog,” Dean lies.

”Pfft. I look like a sex god, and you bloody well know it,” Cas snarks, making Dean laugh. “And that’s why you’re going to be on your knees tonight after you’ve lost, worshipping me― _with your mouth._ ”

Dean gets up and shuts the water off, all bad feelings finally dissipated. “You delude yourself, Angel. You won’t stand a chance against us tonight. None of that twirly shit you do is going to help you.” Cas’ low chuckle makes butterflies flutter around in Dean’s stomach. One would think the effect would have passed by now, but it hasn’t. “But don’t feel bad. That vivid imagination of yours is a good thing,” he says as he leaves the bathroom and goes to lie on the bed instead. “At least that way you can _imagine_ what it would have been like if you’d won, when you’re on your knees worshipping _me_.” 

Their mock banter goes on for another couple of rounds, making Dean feel really good about tonight and everything else. Any doubts are shoved into the dark locker in the back of his mind where they belong. Cas tells Dean he made a bet with Sam that if Sam doesn’t score any goals tonight he’ll have to shave his head. “And he agreed to that?” Dean asks incredulously once he stops laughing.

”He did.”

”Man, I’ve a hard time believing that. What happens if he wins?”

”I have to wear a dress the next time I do a televised interview,” Cas says and sets Dean off laughing again, vowing that will make Sam score at least two goals. Cas fails to see what’s so funny about it all. They talk for more than an hour before it’s time to start preparing for showtime. By then Dean’s got his head solidly on the upcoming game. No need to dwell on the past. It’s not like it’s gonna come back biting them in the ass anyway, right?

* * *


	78. Sightings in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas are on the way to the hair salon where Cas is getting his hair cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**UNWANTED LOYALTIES**

* * *

Early April 2014

The day of the Derby

Cas holds out a hand to stop Sam in his track, suddenly looking alarmed. When Sam stops, puzzled, Cas steps in behind him, peering at the other side of the street. He’s hiding. Sam looks over to see what he's looking at. There’s a man loitering by a car, nondescript and relaxed, seemingly waiting for someone. Cas looks around, scanning all the people around them, not finding what he's searching for and goes back to stare at the man. "Cas?” Sam says questioningly.

Cas eyes flick to Sam for a second before he looks back at the man. “It’s an old... colleague, of mine." 

Not much of an explanation but in the light of Luci’s recent revelation, Sam jumps to conclusions. "A croat?” 

”Yes. How did you―? Luci told you.” Cas answers his own question. "His name is Piotr and he’s very good at football. Or _soccer_ as you like to call it." The word soccer is pronounced with a shit ton of disdain, revealing the deep-set European streak in Cas. It would be funny to Sam if Cas wasn’t hiding behind him and kept looking around, seemingly both stressed and worried (and a tad bit… _hopeful_? No that couldn’t be right). It’s also odd, in a Cas-like way, to choose to share that particular trait as most important when talking about a man who killed people for a living. “And I’d prefer if you’d say Croatoan, Sam. Croat is derogatory and I was proud of my work back then,” Cas adds distractedly.

”Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t…” _know_. How could he? Luci said croat after all. “You think he’s here for us?” The idea is a bit frightening. It’s too soon. Sam knew they’ll be in danger when _Otac_ finds out about him and Luce, but Lucifer seems to think he doesn’t yet, and that they’d have more time. Somehow Sam has a hard time imagining the threat as real. Despite all the crap, Michael put him through. It’s surreal somehow.

”No. By the look of things he’s waiting for somebody in that office.” Cas nods towards an office front of a medical corporation not far from where the man stands. “Most likely his partner, we usually worked in pairs.” Cas is wearing a pensive expression, focus divided between the doors of the office and the croat.

”Yeah, but if he’s here…?”

”There are Croatoans in many places, Sam, this is just the first time I’ve come across one I recognise.” At that moment another man comes out of the office. He’s large, muscular, with dark long hair, and dressed in a suit. Piotr unlocks the car he’s been idling by and gets in, the other man gets into the car’s passenger seat and they drive off. Cas relaxes, looking both relieved and a bit disappointed. “Come on. I promised Dean I’d get my hair cut. Apparently, there’s a risk of me being a Sam-look-alike if I don’t, and I’m afraid that might spoil things when we’re being intimate.”

Sam sniggers. “Awww. You should totally not cut it then, just to mess with him,” he says with a mischievous grin.

Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “Block my own shots, hmm? Good plan, Sam,” he says dryly as they walk along.

Sam’s bubbling with questions, though. “When were you a croat... _oan_? How long had you been a pawn? And what did you do to make them move you up the ranks?”

Cas’ lips quirk in amusement. He ignores Sam’s slip. Sam thinks that if he kept saying ‘croat’ Cas will never correct him again and just assume Sam looks down on his former profession. “I was never a pawn. The circumstances around my recruitment were a bit unusual, as I’ve come to understand. I will tell you about it, Sam, but not here out in the open.”

”You were a direct recruitment?” From what Sam understood that’s fairly unusual because not all croats, sorry, _Croatoans_ , are allowed to recruit directly, and direct recruitment made it more difficult to gauge loyalty than if the man has been working for them all along. A Бог брат has to clear every recruitment, including making background checks, then the training began. Luci hasn’t told him a lot about Croatoans yet. Just what Luci perceives as the basics. Cas nods at the question. “When was this?” Sam wonders.

”Between the year 2007 and 2008.” 

The same year Sam met Lucifer for the first time… Kind of cool that his best friend and him touched that world for the first time the same year. Sam feels like it unites them even more somehow. It’s ridiculous. But still. He was in twin towns getting attention from Lucifer and Michael at the same time as Cas was in…”Where were you at the time?”

”Russia.”

Sam grins. “Luce helped to teach me Russian 2007. ‘S kinda cool that you were there working for the _Porodica_ at the same time as I was here learning the language with a Бог брат.” Okay. This excitement is probably childish. But Sam likes to think it means something. Somehow. 

Cas lets out a small, amused huff. “I suppose,” he says in a non-committal tone of voice.

”Do you regret it?”

”Regret what?”

”Working for them?”

* * *

”Why would I regret that?” Cas asks, tilts his head and squints in confusion. His heart has yet to settle from its frantic beating. Seeing Piotr… It’s strange. The second blast from the past since they got here. And for a moment he feared and hoped that maybe Sasha would be his partner. He could have paid good money just to get a sneak peek at Sasha. Just one look. Yet it frightens him to the verge of panic and he can’t say why. He isn’t afraid Sasha will hurt him. It isn’t that. 

Sam’s staring at him with an equally confused expression. “I don’t know. How about because your job was to hurt people?" Sam says in a sarcastic tone of voice. 

Cas huffs. "We rarely hurt people who hadn't brought it on themselves. People in other criminal organisations for an instance. Or people who had borrowed money from the _Porodica_ and failed to pay it back. But to be honest, I didn't care about a justification for my actions as long as my mentor was pleased with me. If anything, I regret having to leave." 

"Oh." Sam looks stumped. Castiel’s stomach twists nervously. He has changed a lot since he came to twin towns. Somehow, since he met the Winchesters, the glass cage separating him from the rest of the world for all his life had begun to shatter, and it left him vulnerable. He knows he lacks a big part of the emotional spectrum that came naturally to most people. He wants Sam to know it too. Wants Sam to still be his friend despite it. Yet he is nervous Sam won't be. They walk in silence for a while. “They just let you go?" Sam asks at last. 

"Hardly. I faked my own death to get away."

"Huh." Sam mulls this over, then "If you could go back, would you?"

"Before I met you, your brother, and Luci? In a heartbeat. Now? No. That would put me on the side of your enemies. I could never hurt you." Maybe that’s the rub. He wouldn’t be able to hurt Sasha either, and because of Dean, he couldn’t try to talk Sasha into switching sides if he ever faced with him in the future conflict likely to unfold within a foreseeable future. Castiel has always had great difficulty forming strong emotional bonds, but once they were there, they were there for life. Whatever bond he had formed with his former mentor it’s still in place. It is nothing like the mind-blowing, life-reforming, earth-shattering love he has for Dean, but it’s love and it isn’t dead. Therefore it’s of utmost importance that Dean and Sasha never meet. They are oil and water and could not mix. Lucifer would be forced to kill his brothers, people he loved, in this conflict. How he could do that, Cas has no idea. Aside from Father, Cas has loved five people in his life. _Five._ Every each one of their lives he valued higher than his own. Meg was already dead. That left four. Dean, Sam, Lucifer, and Sasha. He sent a prayer that Sasha would stay in South America or wherever he currently is and remain part of his past. All this recent talk about his past and the two encounters―first Jeroen and then seeing Piotr―Cas doesn’t like it. 

”You may have to,” Sam says with a lopsided grin and breaks him out of his reverie. Cas squints at him in confusion. “Luce said he wanted me to work on my self-defensive skills and he wanted you to train me when he couldn’t.”

A smirk grows on Cas’ lips. ”In that case, I hope black and blue will be a skin colour that suits you and I shall be looking forward to it,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes and then punches Sam in the gut. Not full force, of course, but enough to make Sam fold over with an ‘ _Ouff_ ’. Cas takes off running yelling “We need to work on your reflexes first apparently!”

Sam takes up the chase laughing. “Cas, you asshole! I’ll show you black and blue!”

Sam catches up with him in a park and tackles him to the ground. Cas is laughing so hard he can’t muster the will or skill to defend himself when Sam stuffs his shirt full of grass. Their little tussle turns into flight when a cop comes to investigate their “fight”. A couple of blocks away they slow down, still chuckling. “Man, I feel like a young teen again,” Sam says with a wide grin.

”You did that as a teenager?” Cas asks with an eyebrow arched in curiosity.

”Yeah, of course,” Sam answers lightly and turns toward a hair salon on the opposite side of the street. Cas thinks that if Father would have caught him and Meg acting like that as young teens, Cas would have been locked in his room and forbidden to speak for a month. That makes hot resentment towards Father flare in his gut. That had been happening more often lately when he thought about Father. How much else has he missed that others would just shrug off with a ‘ _Of course_ ’?

* * *


	79. The Derby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  Sorry for the hideously long delay. Life, fulltime summer job, and a horrible writer's block is messing stuff up for me.  
> [Here's a list of the team members of both teams and their jersey numbers. ](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/123583344965/the-teams-jersey-numbers)
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**PRISONERS OF OUR OWN MINDS**

* * *

Early April 2014

The day of the Derby

Benny is pissed. Dean can see it in the lines of his shoulders, the tenseness of his neck, the repetitive flicking of his keys inside the cup of his hand. He doesn’t even _need_ his keys right now, he’s just holding them, flicking them with his fingers and making them jangle. He only does that when he’s really mad and keeping a tight rein on his temper. Benny isn’t like Dean. He doesn’t _get_ angry. Not easily. Not at that level. Dean may burst into red-hot flames at any given moment. He may get furious at small provocations (that he may be totally unruffled by, at other times), but Benny is a slow burner. Slowly heating up until he’s vibrating with it. He’s waiting halfway between the bus and the motel rooms, facing the bus where Ennis is staring daggers his way before boarding.

Dean walks up to Benny and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

Benny whirls on him, scowling fiercely and shakes Dean’s hand off. “Am I not your best friend, Dean?” he spits out.

Dean takes a step back, totally taken aback by the anger directed _his way._ ”Yeah, sure."

"Then why do I have to find out crap like this _from Ennis_?"

”What crap?”

”About you. About Castiel.”

Dean’s stomach plummets. Heat rushes to his cheeks and he feels lightheaded all of a sudden. He shoves Benny out of the way without a word and stalks towards the bus without a word. He hears Benny calling something at his back but the sound of his pulse is beating in his ears, deafening. He boards the bus, detecting several hostile or assessing looks from teammates. He stares straight ahead as he makes his way towards the seat beside Sam, trying to ignore the itch of the others’ stares. Sam seems oblivious as Dean flops down beside him. His little brother starts talking animatedly about god knows what. Dean smiles and gives vague responses at all the right places while his head is spinning with miserable panicky thoughts. Fucking Benny turned on him. For being with Cas. Benny of all people! He hadn’t expected that. Not really. Ennis who keeps turning around in his seat sneering at him? Yeah, sure. But Benny? He’s been totally cool with Balt making out with a guy right next to him so why is it such a problem that Dean has hooked up with Cas? This is what he was afraid of. It fucking hurts and makes him feel miserable. All of his dad’s sneered slurs bounce around in his head making him feel dirty. But then he thinks of Cas, and how happy Sam is for the two of them and it just pisses him off. _He_ is happy with Cas and anyone who wants to deny him that can just go to hell for all he cares. Can’t he be allowed something good for once in his life? By the time the bus reaches its destination, Dean has traded the initial hurt for anger.

* * *

Lucifer is crackling at the edges. There’s something dangerous and unfocused about him and Cas picks it up right away. Luci hides it well enough during warm up but his energy is... wrong. Cas hasn’t felt this kind of energy from Luci before. And he’s not the only one who’s on edge. Gadreel is tense and clamped down. Then there’s the part of Balt being missing from the lineup. He is there, though, by the bench, to cheer them on. Balt’s smile froze at first sight of Luci, obviously picking up on the energy too, possibly having seen him like this before. He’d resumed to chatter and joke, albeit a bit nervously. Cas would really like to know what’s going on.

* * *

**”Hello and welcome to Sport’s Night! This is Johnny Casaway, and Mick Johnston broadcasting live from the Stormhaven Arena in Windy City. Tonight’s hockey game is highly anticipated and sold out. The two teams fighting it out tonight seemingly came from nowhere and are both on an express route for ChHL. They’ve been winning the hearts of hockey fans all over the country. The interesting thing is that they’re both from the same town, isn’t that right, Mick?”**

**”Not quite, Johnny. It’s a common misconception. The teams in question are The Angels HC and Team Free Will. The Angels are from Angel Falls, and Team Free Will are from Freeville. They are two towns separated only by a river. More often than not they are referred to as ‘twin towns’ and that’s why people tend to believe that the teams are from the same town.”**

**”Right, right. Anyways, these teams are both newbies heading for the big league. Before this season, nobody had heard of them except for the good folks of twin towns, that is.”** *chuckles* **“In twin towns these guys have been fighting for dominance for as long as anyone can remember!”**

**”Actually, their rivalry is quite new, Johnny. Team Free Will has only been in existence for 14 years now. It was founded by Gabriel ‘The Trickster’ Milton - one of the greatest hockey players of his time. He’s been recruiting mostly local talents and has proved that he can bring out skills from others just as well as from himself. The Angels, on the other hand, was formed in 1885 and will be celebrating their 130th year as a team next year. They’ve won the ChHL cup 12 times already. They were knocked down from ChHL 1979 after a terrible bus accident killed or injured most of the team, leaving the team to fall four divisions. Not until 2006 did they start to make their journey back up the divisions. So to say nobody has ever heard of them is far from correct.”**

**”Right, right. Anyways, we have an exciting game ahead of us and the puck is about to be dropped…”**

* * *

**1st period. Time left 20:00**

As they line up for the faceoff, Dean is fuming. He doesn’t even meet Cas’ eyes, just keeps casting surreptitious glances at Benny who looks equally mad. Victor gives the both of them annoyed looks as he takes his place. There isn’t a trace of the good mood Dean was in when they spoke on the phone earlier. For a moment Cas is split by concern about what has happened and thoughts about how it could benefit the Angels. But they’re on the ice now which means the wish to win takes precedence. “Kiss for good luck?” Cas teases and puts his mouthguard in.

Dean’s eyes snap up. “ _Fuck you_!” he spits out, eyes nearly black.

Cas chuckles darkly. _You’re on your own for now, Wildfire._ It’s a bit of a struggle to keep his thoughts on hockey when Dean looks like that. So untamed. But Cas manages. A quick glance shows Luci is set and Bartholomew is seething with held back excitement. He is overjoyed at being allowed to take Balt’s place in the first line. Cas may not like Bartholomew very much, but the vague animosity between them never carries over to the ice.

Cas turns his attention to the puck. The world is still for a brief moment and then the puck is dropped. Dean wins the brief scuffle for it, passes it to Victor, and the chase is on.

* * *

**1st period. Time left 15:32 [Powerplay the Angels - Penalty time left 01:03 - Adam Milligan / roughing]**

 

Benny is hurt and angry. For years they’d been best friends. Years. He knew more about Dean than most people. Had backed him up in countless fights, put up with temper tantrums, helped him steal and swindle to support Sam, always had his back. He thought they were over the “my way or the highway”-phase long ago. Cas is a nice fella, no doubt about it. He wishes he could just pin all the blame on the Angel but it’s _Dean_ who’d decided Benny isn’t to be trusted with this issue. He’d thought they were close enough that Dean would trust him with anything, just like he would Dean. They are _best fucking friends_ (!) and Dean kept this hidden from him! That pisses him off. That’s what hurts. That Dean wouldn’t tell him this. That he had to find out through rumours, Ennis’ trash talk, and fucking Twitter. And Dean wouldn’t even talk to him about it, just giving him the silent treatment. How the hell is he supposed to back Dean up and defend him from the likes of Ennis when he doesn’t know what’s true and what isn’t? Dean could have told him years ago he was gay or bi or whatever, instead of putting up that macho bullshit charade. What did he expect? That it would somehow change how Benny felt about him? He’d told Dean his deepest secrets. Why the fuck wouldn’t Dean give him the same courtesy after all they’d been through?

The puck comes his way and he reaches out to capture it with the blade of his stick, Inias McMorran is on him like glue, jostling him with his shoulder and scrambling for the puck with his stick. Benny keeps him at bay, but barely. Dean is open to his left, tapping the ice with his stick to signal for him to pass. Ash is to his right, covered by Bartholomew. Benny passes to Ash who fails to catch it, or rather, fails to stop Bartholomew from getting it. Bartholomew skates away, passes to Cas, who passes back. The two of them get through Free Will’s defense and all too soon the signal for goal sounds. Benny curses under his breath and skates towards the booth.

 

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 0 Team Free Will  
Goal by no. 66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no. 65 Bartholomew Smith.**

 

Gabriel is livid when Benny comes off the ice to change. “What the hell are you doing??? You’re supposed to play _as a team_! I don’t care what’s going on but you’re not allowed to take the conflict onto the ice. _Is that clear_?”

”Tell that to Dean,” Benny spits and takes a drink.

”Oh I will, but this conflict goes two ways, Benny. Get your head in the game!” Gabe points with his lollipop in Benny’s face.

Benny makes a sour face. ”Yes, Coach.”

* * *

**1st period. Time left 11:02**

 

The crowd is cheering, the tempo is high and Sam is on fire. Every cell is alive and thrumming. It has never been so fun to play before. Somewhere in the back of his head, he hears the soundtrack Cas had played during their mad joyride. He’s chasing Lucifer, evades Gadreel who gets checked into the board by Adam (yet again surprisingly viciously) and reaches for the puck with his stick, pushing Luci with a hand as he goes. Luci pushes back and tries to spin around, bringing the puck with him. _No way._ Sam bends his knees more, lowers his shoulder and unfolds like a spring, putting all his weight into it. Luci is solid and hard to jar, but he goes flying straight into the board with a pissed off “ _For the love of…_ ”. Sam doesn’t hear the rest over the sound of his own laughter as he skates off with the puck. His legs are burning from pumping so fast, but it’s a good burn. Bartholomew is on him now. Sam dangles the puck back and forth, feints a pass towards Dean, then flicks the puck to the other side. Bartholomew is lost and Sam glides forward. Nearly by the goal. Uriel tries to stop him but Sam does a graceful spin with the puck―more of a trademark move for Cas―Uriel only gets his back and Sam’s reach is further. Another flick with the blade and _Bam!_ ―

Alfie fails to save. The signal for goal blares and Sam raises his hands above his head in victory. “YEAH!” The crowd cheers, Victor barrels into his chest hugging him, Dean next and the rest of the team on the ice. Sam’s elated. Things couldn’t be better.

 

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 1 Team Free Will  
Goal by no. 18 Sam Winchester. **

* * *

**1st period. Time left 03:51**

 

Zeddmore checks Luci up against the board and Luci twists around swinging. Thankfully it’s an awkward angle and the gloved fist doesn’t hit the helmet with even a third of the force it could have had. Nevertheless, Zeddmore goes down and the crowd cheers. Luci seems determined to follow him down to keep hitting. “Bloody Hell, Luci, you blasted twat!” Cas catches him and slams him back against the board. He grabs Luci’s head and smashes their helmet-clad foreheads together. “That’s enough, Lucifer. I want to win this. We won’t if you keep racking up penalties. I’m taking you off the ice,” Cas says as he’s skating backwards towards their booth, bringing Luci with him. Luci _has_ to get off the ice due to the two-minute penalty he just earned, but that’s not what he meant. Luci is breathing heavily from exertion and anger, eyes locked with Cas, but doesn’t say anything. “Rit Zien! Change with me,” Cas yells over his shoulder as they approach the booth. Ephraim gets onto the ice when Cas turns around and gets in, leading the way for Luci.

* * *

Josh eyes Lucifer and Cassie nervously as they get into the booth, take their helmets off and sit down furthest away, where Balt is. Lucifer hasn’t been like this since he and Michael were fighting. It makes it harder to concentrate on the game. Cassie and Lucifer sit with their foreheads leaned together and talk. No. Cassie is doing the talking, one hand hooked around Lucifer’s neck to stop him from drawing back. He’s either brave or stupid. But he wasn’t here after the fallout. He hasn’t _seen_. Or felt, for that matter. Lucifer in this mood is unpredictable and _violent_. One wrong word and you’re on the ground gasping from pain and being stared at with eyes so cold you just _know_ you’re lucky you got away with bruising. Josh hopes Cassie can handle Lucifer, just like Michael once could. He really hopes so.

* * *

**1st period. Time left 02:47 [Powerplay Team Free Will - Penalty time left 00:56 - Lucifer Morningstar / roughing]**

 

_Fuck Benny! Benny can burn in hell!_ Dean swipes the puck from his teammate, sending him a cold glare. Benny spits a couple of incredulous and indignant curses at him. _Yeah, fuck you, asshole! Count yourself lucky I don't smash your face in, fuckwad._ Dean skates away, dangling the puck past an Angel, who cares which one, now when Cas and Luci are off the ice. He passes Victor, shoulders Christian out of the way and gets the puck back from Victor. Sam frees himself from the white-clad opponents covering him so Dean passes him. Usually, Dean’s anger on the ice is mostly for show. Not so much right now. He can barely hear over his pulse thundering in his ears. Fuck Benny, fuck Ennis, Christian, Mark, Kenny, Irv. Fuck all of them! They know. He’s not sure what they know, but somehow they know. And they’re being assholes about it. So fuck them, he doesn’t need them.

Sam makes an absolutely magical slap-shot from the blue line. Alfie doesn’t stand a chance. Dean allows the burn of pride to overshadow his anger as the signal for goal blares and Sam fist-pumps the air victoriously. Dean is on him in a celebratory hug in an instant. His little brother has never played as well as he has today. He’s outshining everyone this far. This is his second goal and his seventh shot at goal. He’s been buzzing with positive energy since he got back from the barbers. How the hell he's managed to remain oblivious to the brewing conflict throughout warmup and during the game is a mystery. Some in the team are treating Dean as if he’s on the opposing team. Worse even. Screw ‘em. He isn’t going to draw Sam’s attention to that while they play. At least Sam is getting more passes that would have gone to Dean otherwise. Fuck ‘em all!

 

**SCORE: Angels 1 - 2 Team Free Will  
Goal by no. 18 Sam Winchester. Assist by no. 13 Dean Winchester.**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a discussion with a friend of mine about when somebody in his squad came out and that spawned Benny's POV. My friend told me that their group (subway police) was very tight, bound together by working together in very dangerous often life-threatening situations. They'd talk about most everything, both about their private life and about what happened in their job. They trusted each other with their lives. After they'd been split up and sent to different divisions one of them came out as gay, saying he had been afraid of what would happen if he came out while working with them. My friend wasn't bothered at all that the guy was gay. But he'd been very upset that the guy had thought they would be a threat to him, or treat him differently and trust him less. It felt, to my friend, like he'd been wrongfully accused of homophobia or a hate-crime he'd never commit. I hadn't thought of that angle before, but I can see how it makes sense. Aaaanyways....


	80. Second Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is getting a grip on himself, feeling good about somebody else taking the reins for a change, when he sees something that once again shatters his calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**A FAMILIAR FACE**

* * *

Early April 2014

The Derby

**The Angels’ locker room, break between first and second period.**

Cas is stressed to the max. He’s second-guessing his every move by now. Strung out like a tight wire. He hates this. Hates it. _Hates it_. He wishes Luci would just take over. “Okay, listen up. There’s something wrong between Benny and Dean. Work with that. Goad Dean about it if you can. Watch Adam. He plays sharper than usual. Gadreel, keep away from him if you can, your presence seems to spur him on. Zack and Mack, I want you two to put extra pressure on him, make him lose his temper and pull penalties. With the mood he’s in, he’ll hand us Power Plays in gift wrappers. Barty, I want you to…” Cas continues to dole out commands and lay out tactics. The team is listening intently and responding as if it’s a natural thing. As if the fact that Lucifer is leaning back against the locker with an unreadable expression and handing the stage to Cas is as it should be. “...Luci, you stay _off_ the ice unless I tell you otherwise, got it?”

”Yes, Sir,” Luci answers with a slow smirk, accepting orders. Cas really, _really_ , wishes he wouldn’t. It’s one thing coming up with ideas and giving recommendations to Luci, something completely else to be the one in charge. If they mess up now, it’s on him. He’s no leader. So why do everyone just accepts him as one? _Bloody hell!_

He keeps on issuing orders. “...Oh, and everyone, put pressure on Sam Winchester. It seems he got bit by a radioactive spider, injected with a super-serum, or something equally bothersome. I want him covered at all times, got it?”

”Perhaps he’s been touched by an angel, hmm?” Balt suggests grinning and quickly slides as far away from Luci as he can get on the bench, bumping into Uriel’s side while there are scattered sniggers amongst the team. Luci just smirks, looking self-satisfied.

”If that’s the true reason for his boost I forbid any of you to come near him within a week before we play them in the future. I will count it as sabotage,” Cas says to all of them but looks pointedly at Luci who makes a show out of looking mock-innocent, eliciting a few more sniggers.

”Now let's go out and show these fuckers there’s no messing with the host of Heaven,” Cas ends his little pep-talk. It makes several in the team laugh as it always seems to do the few times he uses Dean’s choice vocabulary. It’s deliberate. They cannot be allowed to see that Cas more than anything wants to crawl into a corner and hide, rather than be the leader in this. But for some reason or another, Luci is not up to par right now. Cas has been skating with a partner for a good part of his life so he knows full well how important it is for him to pick up the slack when his partner (Captain/brother, in this case) falters. Usually, though, it meant carrying the weight of one person, not a whole team. He keeps his expression calm and composed as they make their way back from the locker room and onto the ice.

* * *

**2nd period. Time left 18:20**

Lucifer has long since calmed down. He’s content watching the game from the sideline. Castiel is doing a fine job directing the team without him. He didn’t expect his new мали брат to rise to the occasion like this. But he _is_ relieved. To be yanked off the ice and given a thorough scolding is the best thing that could have happened. He wouldn’t have tolerated it from anyone else in the team. Castiel’s action distracted him somewhat from his destructive train of thoughts and now he’s just keeping up appearance for Cas' benefit. He can see that Cas is freaking out, of course, but his brother hides it well. It only shows as strained muscles around the eyes and a slightly haunted look easily mistaken from ordinary game nerves. 

To be honest, the game belongs to Sam. The younger Winchester is playing the game of his life and despite it being bad for the Angels it sent thrill upon excited thrill through Luci’s body. _His_ boyking rules the ice and it makes him proud and fiercely content. 

Luci looks around at the audience, letting his focus stray from the game. Despite not being played at the home arena this game has drawn massive attention. There are people from twin towns who have travelled to see the derby, but that’s to be expected. There’s also a great part of the audience that are new fans of the teams, or just hockey fans in general. Lucifer dreamt of restoring the Angels to their former glory. It pisses him off that now when he’s _so close_ he'd have to abandon that goal or let go of Sam. Maybe it’s this train of thoughts that make him spot the familiar face in the crowd. 

Lucifer’s eyes have drifted past the man several sweeps already, but now when he has seen him the man stands out like a beacon despite being dressed in the same Angels fan getup as those around him. Luci leans towards Balt. ”Balt, I need you to do me a favour."

"Anything, Cap," Balthazar says and leans closer. 

"You see the man opposite us in an Angels jacket, Angels cap―"

"I see hundreds, Cap."

" _Balt_!" Lucifer snaps irritably. "Don’t interrupt me. Fifth row in the middle, about 195 cm tall, tinted sunshades, clean shaven. Watches the game like a hawk, not cheering."

"Dark blue shirt visible under the jacket? Killer body?"

"Not the words I would have chosen, but yes," Lucifer concedes. On the other hand, the description is apter than Balt could know. 

"I see him."

"I want you to go to him and tell him to meet me at parking space 43 in," Lucifer looks at the clock, ”8 minutes."

"Consider it done. You think he's up for a little post-game romp?" Balt asks with a grin. He’s not serious and Luci knows it. It still annoys him, though. Now’s not the time.

"If there’s going to be any rough and tumble with him, I'm the one who'll be doing it." And not in a sexy way, but he doesn't add that.

Balt sucks in breath in mock horror. "My, my, Captain. What would Sam say?"

Lucifer ignores the tease. “Balt. Be courteous to him."

"When am I not?" Balt answers with a wink and leaves to carry out the order. 

Lucifer keeps his eyes peeled at the man while waiting. He hears the sound declaring a goal is made, followed by the speakers playing _Angel in the Centerfold_ and thus revealing that Cas is on top of things despite freaking out. Yet he won’t let his gaze stray from the man in the audience. He sees Balt make his way through the row, apologising as he goes until he reaches the man. The conversation is brief and the reaction isn't what Lucifer expects. The moment Balt turns away the man zooms in on Luci, smiles big and openly, gives a thumbs up and a casual salute with two fingers before leaving his spot in the audience. 

No. Not _at all_ what Lucifer expected. Maybe he's just overly paranoid. There’s no way he's here by coincidence, but maybe there isn’t any ulterior motive to his presence at the game. He is a sports fan, isn’t he? Luci doesn’t remember. He knows he played sports with great enthusiasm back in the days. "Oi! Ion," he calls out to get the attention of their second goalie down the bench.

"Yes, Cap?"

"Tell Cassie I've gone to take care of some family business when he comes back in."

"Yes, Cap."

Lucifer gets up and makes his way to the changing room. He swiftly removes his skates and the cumbersome equipment. He just drops it where it lands and puts on sweats and a shirt. His feet go sockless into his shoes. He puts his jacket on and takes his gun in hand, hidden underneath the jacket. Then he hurries to the parking lot.

* * *

**”This is Johnny Casaway, and Mick Johnston broadcasting live from the Stormhaven Arena. It’s the second intermission and we’ll do a quick replay of the goals from the second period. Mick, over to you.”**

**”Thank you, Johnny. I’m telling you, what a game! The fans are certainly getting their money’s worth tonight. We started this period with Free Will in the lead, 2 to 1. It didn’t take long for the Angels to change that. If you all watch the screen for the replay…”**

` 17:34 - The Angels are coming in for a power-play strike! Joshua Gardener gets the puck in the right corner and moves toward the side of the net. He sends a perfect feed to the front of the goal for Malachi Taylor. It never gets to Taylor, instead hitting Castiel Collins’ skate in front and bouncing past goaltender Garth Fitzgerald IV.`   
_SCORE: Angels 2 - 2 Team Free Will  
Goal by no.66 Castiel Collins. Assist by no.42 Joshua Gardener._

**“...Not the kind of graceful goal we’ve come to expect from the Angel in the Centerfold, but it did the trick. And this period the Angels clearly demonstrated what a tight-knit team they are. It’s almost like they’re mocking Free Will by resting most of their first line. Morningstar is off the ice, Penikett is benched for most of the period, and Roche is injured. And yet they manage to own the game. Just watch the second goal…”**

` 13:06 - Now that's how you do it. Zachariah Adler gets the puck in his office and looks for someone open in front. That someone is Bartholomew Smith, and he punches in Adler's perfect feed from about four feet out. Nice to see Smith getting more ice time. As you may already know, I'm predicting big things for Smith. He’s been in the shadows for too long and has the capacity to go far if they just let him.`   
_SCORE: Angels 3 - 2 Team Free Will  
Goal by no.65 Bartholomew Smith. Assist by no.12 Zachariah Adler._

**”...Smith has been allowed to play a key role in this game and as always it pays off. The former Roebuck has been in the shadows of first Filiusdei and Morningstar, and lately Collins and Morningstar. I’m excited to see his potential finally getting recognised this season because Smith has so much more to give. At this point, the Angels are in the lead but another player who’s single-handedly making tonight’s game a joy to watch would not stand for that. I’m of course talking about Sam Winchester...”**

` 12:46 - Free Will quickly erase that lead. They break the other way on a two-on-one. Benny Lafitte carries the puck up the left side, gets the goalie Samandriel Johnston to commit, and then sends a pass across to Sam Winchester. The Freewillian easily bangs this one into an open net. The younger Winchester is spectacular tonight! Already making a hat trick halfway through the game. `   
_SCORE: Angels 3 - 3 Team Free Will  
Goal by no.18 Sam Winchester. Assist by no.05 Benny Lafitte._

**”...Whatever has been bothering Free Will tonight hasn’t affected Sam, that’s for sure. I have never seen the guy play like this! Dean Winchester is usually the show stealer. Not tonight, though. His younger brother is really holding the reins on this game. He’s virtually unstoppable and the Angels are putting a lot of pressure on him. Now for the last goal this period…”**

` 9:00 - This time, the red piping helps out Smith. He gets the puck at the right point and crushes a shot toward the net. It appears to glance off of Ephraim Holmes in front, and then off the pipe and in. `   
_SCORE: Angels 4 - 3 Team Free Will  
Goal by no.36 Ephraim Holmes. Assist by no.5 Bartholomew Smith._

**”That’s the last goal made before intermission. Not for lack of trying, though. Sam Winchester made a series of good attempts that all were thwarted by Johnston. The Angels can count themselves lucky to have such a skilled goalie. Sam has always been a reliable player, but low key. He isn’t the most creative one out there, nor the swiftest skater. Yet tonight he’s like an ace Free Will has had hidden up their sleeve. I can’t stop wondering where all of this is coming from?”**

**”Mick, can we talk about the rest of Free Will for a while? I know we brushed upon the subject during the first intermission but now it’s plain to see that something is very wrong within the team.”**

**”There certainly is, Johnny. We’ve seen botched passes, more roughing than usual, and even gruffs between team members. The Trickster has spent a lot of time this period reprimanding his players as they come off the ice.”**

**”But why? Free Will is a team that is known for its good morale. And nothing during the recent interviews indicated that there was a problem within the team.”**

**”I don’t know, Johnny. Yet if they want to win this thing they have to get their act together or the Angels will wipe the floor with them. Just like the Angels swiftly dealt with Morningstar’s volatile temper during the first period. And look how well that paid off..."**

* * *

**STEP OUT OF YOUR ECHO CHAMBER**

* * *

His heart is beating hard. _For the love of god, why is it beating so hard? This is nothing to be afraid of. Just find out what he wants._ The fear comes from thinking it has begun. That they’re here for him and his boy king. It’s too soon and it wouldn’t happen like this. No Sin-Božji would stand for having a croat come after a brother, no matter the punishment. Nevertheless, Lucifer is nervous. He’s on full alert as he exits the building and walks towards the indicated parking space (out of the way from surveillance cameras, somewhat shielded from view).

As he nears, he can see that the croat is already there. He has removed his jacket and shirt, leaving him in jeans and a tee. His sunglasses are also off and hanging from a necklace. His jacket, shirt, and holster are lying on the roof of the car occupying the parking space. He’s standing too far from it to be able to quickly draw his guns. He’s holding his hands out from his sides, palms outward, to show he’s unarmed, and he looks genuinely happy to see Lucifer. “Бог брат,” he says respectfully. He doesn’t seem to have aged a day since Luci last saw him ten years ago.

There’s a muscle twitching by Lucifer’s eye and he can’t will it to stop. A croat should never expect a Бог брат to be afraid of him, nor have any reason to believe he would be. Yet everything the croat did points at him expecting Luci to come at him guns drawn. 

When Luci doesn’t answer at once, the croat slowly lowers one hand, grabs his tee and pulls it up to reveal his midriff and the lining of his jeans. He makes a slow spin, further indicating that he’s not carrying any concealed weapons. He stops, facing Luci once again with both hands up, and waits. For each second that ticks by his expression shift more from open happiness to sadness and apprehension. The shifts are so subtle and small, but Luci sees them. Inwardly he curses himself. Four years ago he would have greeted this man with a hug if they were in private like this, happy to see him. Many of his brothers would. It is Sam and Castiel that changed that. It’s easy to forget that just because he has made the choice to forsake his family for real unless they support him, it doesn’t mean everyone instinctively knows about it. Speaking of Castiel…

Luci lowers his gun. “Put your hands down and come here, Chaadayev.” He holds out his hand for Aleksandr to shake and when the older croat takes it Luci pulls him in for a brief hug. “I’m having mixed emotions about seeing you here, Aleksandr. Did Mikey send you?” he asks once they part. He could be here for Castiel too. There is much Cas hasn’t told him about his and Aleksandr’s relationship. Maybe he’s here to finish the job. To put a bullet in Cassie instead of the dummy he’d killed in his stead. The croat takes a step away, hands behind his back, standing at ease.

“No, Sir. Doug did. He tried to get a hold of you a couple of weeks back. He told me you have switched cell phone numbers so he no longer has your current ones. He even went as far as to call the Garrison landline. An English gentleman named Balthazar picked up and went to get you, then returned to inform Doug that you were busy. The matter which Doug wishes to talk to you about is sensitive so he requested me to be reassigned to him for the purpose of getting this message to you, but under the guise of working on his latest project.”

Lucifer wonders how Balt could have missed to inform him of this phone call. He’d take any call from any of his brothers if they use the landline. It hits him then that it could have been when Balt walked in on Sam kissing him. And Doug _told_ Aleksandr this? Wasn’t that more than slightly too far of the need-to-know policy? Lucifer hums. “Why would he request you specifically for this?”

Aleksandr’s face remains free from tells, but his neck is turning red. He’s nervous. “Sir? Doug has got a problem. I…” a swallow indicates how dry his mouth is. “I serve the Божја браћа. Regardless of whether they’re inside of _Otac’s_ echo chamber or not.” The Croatoan’s gaze is steady as ever, his posture relaxed, but Lucifer can see how fast his pulse is racing in the hollow of his throat. It might seem like nothing to an outsider, but the phrasing ‘ _Otac’s_ echo chamber’ can be counted as _massive_ critique of _Otac’s_ teachings. Ten years ago, Aleksandr had stated almost the same thing. Luci had been too distraught at the time to put much notice to a croat refusing to carry out a direct order from _Otac_. He recalls it now, though. ‘I serve all the Божја браћа. I will not do something that one of them will consider treason or personal slight.’ That had been about helping with the execution of baby. The difference in today’s phrasing and what he said ten years ago could mean his death if spoken to the wrong brother, just as the phrasing ten years ago didn’t even earn him a reprimand.

This could be a setup too. Luci isn’t about to rule that out. “What problem does he have that he needs to speak to me about? I’m far from involved in the family business these days.”

“We’re aware, Sir. The problem is very similar to the one you have. And he wants to talk about it eye to eye. I’m not allowed to be the middle hand in this.”

Luci’s heart is racing now. Either this is a setup or the opening he’s been hoping for. He reacts to Aleksandr’s phrasing once again. ‘ _We’re aware_ ’ like a croat could ever be equal to a Бог брат. That sparks anger in Luci. He reins it in. Wasn’t he himself just thinking that it’s up to him to redefine what it means to be a Croatoan? Isn’t that anger born from noise from the aforementioned echo chamber? Working in such close contact with the Божја браћа as Aleksandr for such long time, the wording must have been deliberately chosen, not spoken by mistake. Maybe Doug has developed a close relationship with his old teacher. It isn’t impossible. The two of them share an interest in how you can influence the body and mind with chemicals. Doug had, to Lucifer’s knowledge, been cooped up in his lab for years. Luci doesn’t know jack shit about what he’s been up to. He certainly doesn’t have a clue about anything Doug would try to hide. Like a blossoming and very forbidden friendship with a croat for an instance. Luci’s contact with his brothers had been virtually non-existent since Mikey left and down to a bare minimum since he came to Angel Falls. Right now he’s regretting that. “Pray tell me, Aleksandr. What problem do I have?” he asks and tilts his head, concentrating on picking up every nuance in body language he can while feigning nonchalance.

Aleksandr swallows again. His pupils dilate slightly and his neck is starting to get a faint sheen of sweat. There are tiny tells of tension around the eyes. _Fear_. He is right to be afraid. The question is if he’s afraid because he’s here to double cross Luci, or if he’s afraid because he is putting himself on the line by talking about Luci’s brother as an equal and criticising _Otac_. Just because Lucifer is being openly defiant doesn’t guarantee that he’d allow that kind of disrespect from others. Aleksandr’s voice is calm and steady when he speaks, not indicating any nervousness despite the outwardly signs. “A tall one. Sir? Permission to speak freely?”

* * *


	81. Second Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Free Will's locker room, all is not going well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to publish this along with the third period, but I realised it was long enough to be a chapter of its own. :) So without further ado, have some Gabe point of view. ^^
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**SHIPPER TRASH TINHATTING**

* * *

**Free Wills’ locker room, break between second and third period.**

Rare are the moments when Gabe wishes his side business-slash-hobby was his prime occupation and that the hockey was just a hobby he could walk away from. Rare, but those moments exist. Moments like now, for an instance. The air in the locker room is nothing short of frigid, despite the temperature being high. He’d walked into a fight and now the silence rings thunderous. 

Ennis Roth is bleeding from the mouth, Dean’s more or less foaming from _his_ , and Benny stands square in the middle of them with a hand planted in the middle of their chests. The rest of the team is obviously just as invested. Victor for an instance is holding Sam back, the little brother just as intent on drilling laser beam hatred through Ennis' skull with his eyes. Garth looks ready to cry. Chris Campbell stand off to the side of Ennis making it clear which side he’s taking. Adam has shrunk back against the lockers trying not to be seen. Zeddmore and Spangler sit tense and uncertain side by side. Gabriel wants nothing more than to turn on his heel and walk right back out again. “Anyone care to explain the little testosterone fest you've got going on in here?" he says instead. 

"Ennis called Dean a fucking faggot," Sam spits. 

Ah, yes. God bless Twitter and the shipper rumour mill. One little picture and the world goes insane. Gabriel looks at Ennis. "I believe the correct term would be 'bisexual'. Now, why would Deano's choice of bed warmers be such a big deal that you have to pull his pigtails in the middle of a game?"

"It’s disgusting! I've shared showers with him!" 

Dean’s jaw muscles clench at Ennis' vehemence and Sam’s bitchface goes up to full power. Gabriel makes a full body eye roll. "And here I was under the impression that a bunch of adult men could act, you know, like adults. Ennis, don't you think that if Dean wanted to play drop the soap with you, he would have done so already? After all, you've played together for five years.” Ennis doesn’t answer, just compresses his lips into a thin line. Gabe goes on. “Having a fluid sexuality does not equal one to be a sexual predator or a rapist. I'm also not 100% concerned whether or not the cheeks around the mouth swallowing my dick down is stubbled or not, after a bottle of tequila. That does not mean I ogle you boys in the shower." Most of the team looks surprised at this revelation (Ennis turning slightly green) and Gabe staves off a second full body eye roll. He’s playing a bit fast and loose with the truth. He can count the number of times he'd been with a man (not counting kiss-dares) on one hand (using three fingers to be exact). The amount of alcohol involved in every one of those instances had been staggering and two of those times had been cases of ' _Oops. I should have paid more attention to the Adam's Apple on this chick but what the hell while we're here we might as well play hide the weiner._ ' As for the third time when he had been fully aware of the sex of the seducing party, well. When Hollywood's most wanted Adonis of the decade decides that a short, obnoxious hockey star on the rise is the sexiest person at a party full of exquisitely beautiful superstars, who is Gabe to say no? Gotta try it at least once, right? Live a little. So he’d followed the actor home and let himself be fucked seven ways to Sunday. An experience well worth remembering. Sadly most of it is lost in a drunken haze. He still considers himself straight (motorboating, Yay!) but he will not tolerate any homophobic bullshit on his team. "And if you are so concerned about the sexual adventures of your teammates, you should be aware that there's at least one or five in each team, who prefers sausage to clam or devours both with equal enthusiasm. Even if they hide in the closet to avoid," Gabriel gestures towards Ennis and Dean with annoyed jerky movements, "this."

Ennis looks like he wants to say something but Gabe goes right on talking. “Is there anyone else here who've decided to develop raging biphobia because Dean decided to play stuff the bird with an Angel?" he thinks it's important to name it correctly for Dean’s sake considering how badly the boy has been struggling with his feelings the last couple of months. Gabriel found it to be an absolute mystery how not everyone had figured out about Dean’s little crush straight away. Same as Sam’s obsession with Morningstar. _That_ had been obvious to Gabe at first sight. Of course, Gabriel had spotted them through the windshield of a car in a rather compromising situation considering the age difference. Sam lying on top of Lucifer looking like there was no place on earth he'd rather be and Lucifer trailing gentle fingers over him and looking at him like he was a precious baby bird worth his weight in diamonds and he was afraid Sam would break or go up in smoke if he made a wrong move. Since Sam didn’t look coerced in any way Gabe had let it pass (that he himself might have to explain why he was outside the aquarium at the time, may have urged his decision a bit). Besides, it would have been hypocrisy to judge Sam and Lucifer for taking a shine to each other since he himself had seduced a teacher when he was barely a year older than Sam. (Ah, yes. Mrs. Jenkins. She taught him very handy life skills during those private lessons.) Anyway, Gabriel would do almost anything to protect the Winchesters from real danger. But he wouldn’t protect them from making questionable life-choices or force them to stay within the realms of what’s deemed morally acceptable by a stuck-up society. Some of Gabriel's worst decisions had led to the best experiences in his life, so who is he to block someone else's shots at the same thing? As for morally acceptable? Well. Gabe is the epitome of the opposite. Plus Sam and Morningstar are still making cow eyes at each other so whatever had transpired between then and now hasn’t caused any animosity between them, which led Gabe to believe he’d made the right call to stay out of it. 

Most of the team looks remorseful now, but far from all. Dean’s anger flares hot again when he sees Benny shake his head in response to Gabriel's inquiry. "Fucking own up to it, Benny! You fucking asshole!"

Benny shoves Ennis away and turns to face Dean head on, equally pissed. "You think _that’s_ what this is about, brother?" he asks incredulously. "I don't give a flying fuck abou―”

”I’m not your brother,” Dean says coldly.

He might as well have stabbed Benny straight in the heart by the look on his face. Then it grows hard and cold. Trust Dean to hit where it hurts the most. When Benny had come from Louisiana it hadn’t been BFF’s at first sight. _Why_ Benny came here is still not 100% clear. But he’d had good reason to leave, that much is sure. He’d been part of a gang (Cajun Pirates, was it?) and during a drunken confession Gabe had gotten out of him it had something to do with being betrayed. Dean and Benny had circled each other like wary predators at first, always one hair away from baring their claws. Then for one reason or another Benny had stepped in and saved Dean in a fight where Dean was badly outnumbered and that was the start of a very tight friendship. Dean made clear from the start that he would not be led―it’s his way or Benny could just fuck off. Apparently, that still stood. Gabe wants to smack them both. Both proud, headstrong, and bad at communicating. ‘ _I’m fine._ ’ vs ‘ _None of your business, brother._ ’

”Chris,” Gabe says turning towards Christian Campbell. “Do _you_ have a problem with Dean’s escapades on the other side of the fence?" He has to ask considering Chris is backing up Ennis. 

”Hell no. But I do have a problem with him playing like shit to help his boyfriend win," Chris says angrily. 

”Fuck you, dickwad! I'm doing no such thing!” Dean yells at him and takes a step closer, once again getting Benny’s hand on his chest holding him back. 

Gabriel holds back the urge to scream. A headache slowly forming as the team once again resorts into yelling accusations at each other. He squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples. " **QUIET!!!** "

The locker room falls quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop and all attention is directed at him. Gabriel looks at them, one by one. He takes out a lollipop from his pocket, unwraps it, and pops it into his mouth as he regards them (cookies and cream, Yum!). He takes it out of his mouth and uses it to point at them. "I realise you all need a Dr. Phil session because Dean found a more literal use of the phrase 'Stick it to the man'. We should just sit in a ring, hold hands and sing kumbaya while each of us shares their innermost thoughts and feelings. But right now I'm in a mind to just walk out of here, lock the door from the outside, and let you play last man standing with the Winchesters while I announce that we forfeit the game." There’s some uneasy shuffling at that. "In case you hadn't noticed, the Angels’ coach is nowhere to be seen. Roche is injured, Morningstar is benched, Gadreel has very little ice time. They are playing mostly with their second and third line, yet they _still_ manage to play better than us. That's because they're playing _as a team_. Right now Samsquatch and Garth are carrying the weight of the whole team and frankly, you don't _deserve_ to win if you keep this up.”

He pops the lollipop back in his mouth and lets his word sink in for a beat while he rolls the lollipop back and forth against his teeth using his tongue. He takes it out again to gesture at them, accentuating what he says. “Dean is not the only one playing badly tonight. All of you are. You are not passing the puck to each other as you should, or passing only to a few particular people. It’s like watching a reenactment of a high school drama. I’m _ashamed_ of calling myself your coach tonight.” Another pause and now the team has deflated, staring at the floor, their nails, or other things, looking sullen or shameful. Gabe rarely gets angry and serious, but now he is, so they listen. “You’re adults. This is your _job._ I’m not paying you to skate around making solo performances.” He turns to Sam who’s deflating like a kicked puppy, “This is not about you, Sam, you’ve done great thus far. Keep that up,” then turns his attention back to the rest of the team when Sam perks up. “The rest of you have acted like a pitiful excuse for a team. The friendships you’ve formed with the Angels is not affecting _their_ performance. You’re supposed to be professionals, so it shouldn’t affect yours either. Yet all it took was one little Twitter pic for you to fall apart.”

Dean scrunches up his face in confusion. “What Twitter pic?”

Gabe ignores it for now. “Now. I ask you to put your differences aside for the remainder of the game. If you can’t, we might as well pack up and go home right now. Are you going to play as a team?”

There’s a unanimous “Yes, Coach!” from the team.

”Good. Now go out there and play some actual hockey. We’ll resolve the rest afterwards.”

” _Yes, Coach_!”

The team starts to file out of the locker room. Dean grabs Gabe’s shoulder on the way out. “Gabe. What Twitter pic?” he asks looking worried.

Gabriel deliberates with himself as to whether he should show him now or after the game, but settles for showing him now. He’d be distracted by worrying about the pic during the game otherwise. Granted, Dean had a tendency to worry about everything if he got too much time to think about it, but since it had already kicked up such fuss amongst some hardcore fans and in the team, he might as well see it now. Gabe rolls his lollipop back and forth with his tongue as he fishes out his phone, opens up Twitter and searches for the pic in the DemonDean-hashtag. (Re-tweets had then added #Destiel to it along with commentary Dean didn’t need to see right now). He finds it and holds it up so Dean can see. The picture, posted by a guy named Matt Pike, is of Dean smiling with an arm slung around the shoulders of the young bellhop along with the comment “I love my job! I got to meet #DemonDean Winchester and he was super nice and awesome! Go #TeamFreeWill !!! Dean's the best!”

Dean scrunches up his face in confusion. “I don’t get it. Why would this pic be something to fuss over?”

Gabe rolls his eyes in an exaggerated motion. Dean could be such a dunce sometimes. He removes the lollipop from his mouth and gestures with it, almost booping Dean’s nose with it. “You’re not looking at the whole picture, numskull.” Gabe uses the stick of the lollipop to point out details. “See?” He points at the name of the hotel embroidered on the breast pocket of the bellhop’s shirt, then at the serving cart in the background where a big bouquet of roses can be seen, along with champagne and strawberries, and lastly, he points out an Angels team jacket thrown on the floor. “There are fans who keep track of where we stay as well as where the Angels stay. Destiel shippers saw this and they are speculating like mad about you and Cassie-boy being a couple.” Gabe plops the lollipop back in his mouth and waits expectantly for Dean’s reaction.

Dean’s blushing profusely, mouth slightly open as he processes this information. Then he frowns. “The Desti _-what_?”

Gabe looks at his watch. A few minutes left. “Come on,” he says and starts leading Dean out of the locker room. Now is not a good time to explain shipping but he tries anyway. “There are fans who think you and Feathers has a special chemistry and think you would make a great couple and should be in a relationship. ‘Ship’ for short. Ships usually get specific names, abbreviations of the names of the pair in the ship. Dean and Castiel turn into De-stiel. You with me so far?”

”Uh Huh…” Dean says uncertainly. Close enough.

”Shipping is the act of rooting for a ship and those who does it are called shippers.”

”Ooookay?”

”Destiel shippers took this picture as proof of you and Collins dating, and so did some of your teammates after reading the comments.”

Dean’s cheeks are burning up by now, the blush spreading to his neck too. He puts a tentative hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Gabe. They’re not wrong…” he says, looking slightly unsure of himself.

”I know that, knucklehead. But you can still deny it in media if you want to. We’ll talk more after the game. Okay, squirt? Now, get out there and play. No more bullshit on the ice.” He claps Dean on the shoulder and ushers him out on the ice with a wink.

”Yeah... Yeah, alright. We can do that… Thanks, Coach.”

”No problemo, Deano.” Well, that went better than expected. Gabe just hopes Dean’s head won’t be too full of distracting thoughts. Dean takes on his usual cocky persona as he skates towards the middle to take his position for the face off. That’s a hopeful sign at least…

* * *


	82. Idjits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves his faith in Castiel's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....  
> *waves shyly*
> 
> It's been a while. I know. *scratches back of neck absentmindedly* I've got no excuse. Well. Actually. I've got loads of them. But you know. Life, writer's blocks, muses, all takes their toll. I promised this wasn't abandoned, and it isn't. This whole 'verse is my baby. I haven't been writing in order, and that brings us these problems. :P Some of you read the Depraved (Tom's life after retirement), and some of you read The Croatoan (Sasha POV - Michael friendly) and its sequel Going Rogue (Sasha POV, takes off a few hours after this chapter) which both contains spoilers for what happens in VC, even if it's just seen from the outside. All of these stories tie together, but are vastly different. Both the Croatoan and Going Rogue for an instance puts a lot of focus on the _Porodica_ and Lucifer's family. (and is very trigger heavy I think). **None of them are necessary to read to get what happens in Volatile Chemistry**. 
> 
> What I'm trying to say is, I keep writing this 'verse, and I'm going to try to catch up with the spin-offs in VC too now. I've stopped trying to force my muse. I'll write whatever story I get the inspiration for. I'm grateful to announce that I'm currently working with a beta, Mizz_kitty21 and that is really inspiring. Keep in mind though that all faults that are left are to be blamed on me. :)
> 
> Hopefully, we'll be back on track in VC soon enough. :) *waves goodbye and scampers off*
> 
> This chapter has been revised and Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown).

* * *

**CREATING DIVERSION**

* * *

_They know. People know. Oh shit. What do I do now?_

Dean wants to grab Cas and pull him to the side to ask what to do. He’d thought someone in the team had seen him be “friendly” with Cas, but it’s worse. It’s on fucking _Twitter_. It means everybody knows.

As they get ready for the faceoff, Dean meets Cas eyes to make sure he has his attention. “It’s on fucking Twitter, Cas. Everyone knows. There’s something called Destiel. Ennis had a freakout cuz he’s been sharing showers with me, and Benny is fucked up about it too,” he says quietly so his teammates won’t hear while they take their position.

”Twitter? Is it the bellhop picture causing all this commotion? In that case, don’t worry about it. It proves nothing.”

”You _knew_ about it?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Of course.”

Yeah, okay. That’s just… Dean doesn’t even know how to feel about that. Cas knew about the picture and didn’t tell him. 

Cas rolls his eyes. “We’re friends. You helped prepare my room for my date. The rest is gossip. Stop fretting,” Cas says, providing him with a lie, should he want to use it. 

Right. It could work. Not everybody will believe it, but _that_ doesn’t matter. There’s no actual _proof_.

Funny how that is a bit disappointing.

The ref takes position and before Dean can think very much more, the puck is dropped and the game is back on.

* * *

Cas slams him up against the board and keeps him pressed against it long enough to ask “You want to confirm or deny?”

“Deny,” he grits out without thinking in wake of the jarring hit.

“Don’t get jealous then. I have a plan.” And with that, he skates off, leaving Dean wondering what he has in mind.

* * *

Dean’s sitting in the booth taking a rest during the commercial break. (Which, to him, fucking sucks. The three commercial breaks per period may allow players to recuperate, but it slows the game down and Dean doesn’t like it.) Sam’s out on the ice still. He’s standing with his head bent down while Cas is talking to him. He keeps nodding along, a grin spreading across his face. Whatever Cas is saying, Sam answers “Yeah,” before clapping Cas on the shoulder and skating towards the booth.

Victor shuffles to the side to give Sam room to sit down when he comes in. He sinks down on the bench next to Dean and grabs a water bottle. “What were you two talking about?” Dean asks. 

Sam throws him a suspiciously guilty look while he drinks. “What? Oh, nothing.” Sam shrugs, fake innocence screaming **I'M LYING** to Dean. 

“No. Dude. Seriously, what were you talking about?”

“ _Nothing_. He was just complimenting me for playing well. I swear,” Sam says, holding his hands up, palm out.

“You’re lying,” Dean pushes.

“Screw you, Dean. I'm not lying. Stop being so paranoid.” Sam gives him one of his best bitchfaces, all but sniffs, and sticks his nose self-righteously in the air. 

That goddamn asshole. “Whatever. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean’s still convinced he’s lying.

* * *

The mood is high at The Roadhouse after Free Will’s win. Many fans gather here to watch the games. Bobby sits on the barstool nursing his beer with the glow of pride in his chest. The boys had done well, despite the general telenovela quality the game had. The game ended Angels 6 - 7 Team Free Will, with Sam’s last shot crossing the blue line just before the game was over. The third period had been a thriller. Ennis got benched for fighting after the Angels seemed to communally have decided to come onto him with slaps on the ass, winks, and kissy faces. There was barely a single pass between Dean and Benny, even if they’d seemed to get their shit together enough not to “pass” the opposition rather than each other. But in the end, they’d won. Now everyone in here is watching the post-game interviews.

★―★

“Thank you to the studio. We’re here, down by the rink and currently talking to the real show stealer tonight, Sam Winchester.” The reporter turns around to face Sam. Sam’s beaming with pride, panting from exertion and sweating, answering every question the reporters throw his way. “That’s was an amazing game, Winchester. You practically single-handedly won this game for Free Will.”

“Thank you. Um… I disagree. It was a team effort. I couldn’t have done anything without the rest of the guys. But, yeah... It was a great game for me.”

“Some would say your best ever. Why do you think that is?”

Sam grins. “Just lucky, I guess. So get this. Somebody I love gave me something…” He digs around inside his pants and pulls up a rabbit’s foot. “Look. It’s this. I’ve been really lucky since the day I got it. Never go anywhere without it.” He turns to face the camera instead of the reporter and holds the rabbit charm up. “Thanks, T. This is all for you. I played for you tonight. I miss you, a lot, actually, and I hope you’re doing well,” he says with a smile, blows a kiss at the camera, then puts the rabbit foot back again. 

The reporter laughs. “You really believe that a lucky charm is what did it? Are you superstitious, Sam?”

Sam raises an eyebrow at the reporter. “Oh boy, you're new at this, aren't you?” The reporter’s smile freezes in the way it does when you get insulted but aren’t allowed to show you take offense. “Um. Look. _All_ athletes are superstitious, whatever we try to convince everybody else of,” Sam goes on with an amused smile. His demeanor turns scholarly. “Playoff beards, lucky underwear, charms, only ever use one colour on our bindings, cross around our necks. It’s there, and it’s about faith, you know? Look. We can only ever do our best, but sometimes it’s all up to chance. And we all like to think we can influence these random little things, even if we can’t. But we don’t know that, we hope we can. So we pray and have lucky charms or pre-game rituals we don’t ever break. And in my case it worked, didn’t it?” He ends his little speech and tilts his head down, sweat-soaked hair falling over an eye, lopsided smile and eyes sparkling from under his bangs, charming himself into the reporter’s good graces again.

“It certainly did. What were you thinking when―” Dean comes from the back and interrupts the reporter by throwing an arm around Sam’s neck.

“Did you see my little brother? Did you?! He’s fu* _bleep_ *ng awesome!” Dean declares loudly with an excited grin directed at the camera, tugging at Sam while he speaks. Sam sputters and tries to straighten out. “Best fu* _bleep_ *ng brother, and all you other f* _bleep_ *ers, can just go * _bleep_ * yourself, and kiss his ass! _Yeah_!” Dean manages to give Sam a noogie before Sam finally gets him off him.

★―★

Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters “Idjits,” to himself. The poor schmuck whose job it is to bleep out profanity real time certainly has his job cut out for him when Dean is on screen. Ellen leans against the inside of the bar disk and gives him a pointed look. “Don’t look at me like that,” Bobby protests. “Tryin’ to teach that boy proper manners, ‘s like try’na to herd a flock of cats.”

Ellen chuckles and turns her attention back to the TV, where the reporter is rolling with the punches and interviewing both the Winchesters. Jo moves behind the counter, serving beers and drinks, watching the screen with half an eye. Nobody really cares if the service is slow during game days. Customers here are too devoted to their team to hold it against the Harvelles that they are too. On-screen Cas comes up from behind the Winchesters and hooks his arms around both their shoulders, congratulating them on a game well played. The Angels/Free Will friendship is still a bit of a sore point to some fans. And Ellen has lost some customers since they started coming here together. However, Ellen would rather have the good-natured, non-hating patrons, so she doesn’t consider it a great loss. Bobby respects her for it. It makes her all the more beautiful in his eyes. And she really is a strong, beautiful woman. Not that he’s pining. He ain’t got time for romance. But if he did...

Suddenly something happens on screen that has the whole bar erupting in shocked exclamations. Jo all but howls as prolonged _Ooooooooh_! Both Bobby and Ellen stare at the screen, then at each other. “My, my. That came out of left field. I didn’t see that one coming, at all,” Ellen says.

“I’ll be damned,” Bobby says, pushing his scruffy cap back to rub his forehead and adjusts the cap back in place afterwards. Then he shakes his head and once again mutters “Idjits.”

★―★

Cas comes up from behind and throws his arms around Sam and Dean’s necks, standing between them. “Congratulations on your win. Very well played,” he says with a tired, but genuine, smile on his face. He’s as red and sweating from exertion as the rest of them.

“Thanks, Cas,” both brothers answer in unison.

The reporter is unfazed by having his interview crashed by yet another player. “Castiel Collins. Center forward in the Angels, also known as the Centerfold Angel,” the reporter introduces. “You’re showing great sportsmanship considering the animosity your two teams are famed for.” He holds out the mic for Cas to answer, despite no real question has been asked.

Cas tilts his head and squints at him. “Mmh. The animosity in question does not extend beyond the ice. Although, I find the results of tonight’s game less than satisfactory―I’d go so far as to say it’s both aggravating and detrimental―I’m not beyond the capacity to honour and share the joy of my friends.” Cas lips quirk into a little smirk. “Even if it took us having our best players benched, for them to be able to achieve this victory.”

Sam laughs and Dean scowls at him. “Dude. We would have kicked your asses even if you didn’t,” Dean protests.

Cas lowers his eyelids and nods sagely at him. “As you say, Dean. I will allow you to remain in that delusion, since it makes you happy, and your happiness is important to me.” Dean’s put-upon scowl grows and Sam grins widely, shoulders shaking in held back laughter. Cas turns his face towards Sam. “I hope the game's unfortunate results does not negate our plans for tonight?” he asks and quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Of course not,” Sam answers and gets a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“That pleases me,” Cas says, then extends his neck and tilts his face upward towards Sam, lips parted. 

Sam’s hand comes up to touch his cheek. He licks his lips, parts them, then bends down and kisses Cas with closed eyes. It’s not a French kiss, just a hint of tongues maybe perhaps visible for the keen of eye. But it’s not a friendly peck. It can’t be explained away by the ‘No Homo’-crowd.

“Ca- _aaas_!” Dean exclaims in shocked protest. It’s hard to tell if his or the reporter’s eyes bug the most.

Sam and Cas break the kiss fairly quickly. Longer than any innocent kiss can be, but not lingering. “I’ll see you later,” Cas says and gets a smile from Sam. Cas winks at the reporter, then withdraws and keeps walking. Dean stares gaping at him with wide eyes as he walks away, before getting a determined expression on his face and hurrying after him.

Sam remains standing, wearing a neutral friendly expression, as if nothing out of the ordinary just took place.

“Um. You just kissed him,” the reporter points out, like Sam didn’t know.

“I did that, yeah,” Sam agrees.

“No offense meant, but I didn’t know you were gay?” the reporter asks. He seems to be having trouble knowing what to ask for.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, giving the reporter a smile that can only be counted as pitying. “None taken. And I’m not.”

“But you just…” The reporter points vaguely in the direction Castiel disappeared.

“The word you’re looking for is bisexual. It means you’re attracted to both men and women. Which I am.” 

The reporter draws breath as if to say something, stops, then makes another false start. This is _not_ the interview he had prepared himself to make. “So does… I mean… If…” The reporter visibly shakes himself. “Are you dating Collins? Doesn’t that make it harder to play the Angels?”

“No members in either team try any less hard to win. Look, our goal is to reach ChHL, so is theirs. Any off-the-ice liaisons don't change that. In fact, the friendships that have evolved between our respective teams this year, makes it even more fun to play against them. If nothing else, we get to tease them relentlessly and still have them buy us beers.” Sam gives the reporter an impish smile. “I’ll keep my relationship status to myself for now. But really, one can do worse than dating an Angel, don’t you think?”

“I, I guess…”

“There you have it. Now, if you’ll excuse me. There’s a champagne bottle with my name on it in the changing room, so I’m gonna go and celebrate with my teammates, then maybe see about an Angel.” Sam gives the reporter one last smile and leaves.

The reporter turns towards the camera with a blank face. “With that, we thank Sam Winchester for… um… _that_. Back to the studio.”

★―★

* * *

Dean catches up to Cas in the corridor, grabs his sleeve and yanks him around. “Cas, whatta fuck? Whatta actual fuck?!” He glares at Cas, pissed the hell off.

Cas rolls his eyes impatiently. “I told you not to get jealous.”

“You kissed my brother!”

“Oh, don’t be bothersome. It was pre-agreed upon.” Cas grips Dean around the biceps and locks gaze with him. “I told you I had a plan, Dean. Now there’s a valid excuse for you to set up a date in my hotel room, to help Sam. There’s an explanation why your teammates freaked out and played like clowns. Even your pissy mood can be explained, since you’d protect your brother. It’s a good diversion. It removes the focus from you.”

“Yeah, but you put it on _him_! You realise what kind of shitstorm the media will throw his way now?”

Cas withholds the urge to do a full body eyeroll. “And that’s exactly how your reaction during the interview will be explained. As protectiveness towards Sam. Sam was ready to come out. He’s been openly bi in school since he was fourteen, according to him. The only reason he hasn’t been open about it with you, is because he’s been afraid you’d share your father’s views. Which, we all know by now, you don’t.”

Dean switches between looking angry/upset, to looking angry/hurt when Cas tells him Sam had been openly bi since early teens. And Cas can understand that. But right now he has little patience for Dean feeling sorry for himself. He hates to lose, and he has just failed to lead his team to victory the first time he took the lead. (Although he _had_ made good use of the little nugget of information that Dean dropped at the faceoff, about Ennis being extremely homophobic―ordering everyone in the team to come onto him, giving them multiple power plays as a result, until Gabriel benched Ennis.) Lucifer is nowhere to be found. _That_ makes him nervous. He'd intended to clear the kiss with Luci first. The idea had come, not just for Dean’s sake, but also to beard for Luci and Sam. The general media would blow Sam’s and his kiss out of proportions, while both of them would be dubious with their answers in any interviews. That would keep Luci and Sam’s relationship in the shadows, along with Dean’s sexuality.

Dean’s pissy mood he can live with. 

The question is, will Luci be forgiving for the ruse?

He’s nervous. Not _scared_. Yet. Even though his heart rate is elevated since they went through with it.

“None of that gives you the right to go macking on my brother, Cas.”

“He's my best friend, Dean. We don't have feelings of that nature for each other. You have no reason to be jealous or angry. We can argue about this later. Right now I need to shower and try to find Luci. So let me do that and meet me behind the closed down drugstore on third in an hour. There we can fight, or better yet, you can _punish_ me up against the nearest wall. As I recall, we've also agreed upon some worshipping as a reward for the winner tonight.”

He pulls Dean in for a kiss, considerably less innocent than the one he shared with Sam. Dean might be pissed, but he still reciprocates, borderline violently. He holds onto Cas’ shirt, stopping him from withdrawing, and bites at his lips and tongue. He pushes Cas up against the wall, pressing against him.

 

_Oh, Lord! There’s the fire._

 

For once Cas is glad they’re wearing all their hockey gear. The padding helps keep his thoughts somewhat where they need to be. Dean, when he’s angry, is, and forever will be, aphrodisiac and kryptonite all at once. It almost distracts him from thinking about Lucifer’s reaction to him ‘touching his stuff’. Cas shoves Dean off him. “One hour, Dee. In one hour.”

Dean glares at him, nostrils flaring and green eyes burning. “Fucking _fine_ ,” he growls between clenched teeth.

Once they’ve parted and Cas hurries along to the changing room, he thinks that maybe this is a good thing, if it makes Dean angry. Better than the anxiety he’d displayed earlier during puck drop. It’s a worry for later, though. Now he needs to shower and find Lucifer…

* * *

The game is over when Luci comes back. The adrenaline surge from the meeting with the Croatoan that no longer knows his place, is still riding his bloodstream. He ignores anyone trying to talk to him―uncaring about the end result of the game―and quickly hides his gun in the locker. “Where’s Castiel?” he asks no one in particular. Somebody answers “In the shower, Cap.” Luci divests himself of clothes, finds his pocket knife in the locker and heads for the shower. Castiel is in the furthest stall. Luci walks over and steps into it, unmindful of the water. Cas turns around, eyes widening in confused surprise. Their gazes lock, and with a determined scowl Luci grips Cas’ bicep and tugs him closer. 

With lips pressed into a thin line, he pushes the button on his knife, making the blade pop out with a _*tzing*_....

* * *


	83. The Pieces that Don't Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Luci are enjoying their new relationship status. But some things aren't as perfect as one could have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **FINALLY!!!** I'm updating! :D  
>  I figured out (more or less) why this chapter was giving me such tremendous trouble. I forgot to take into account the full spectrum of who Luci is and how he was brought up and only saw who he aims to be, very much like the other characters do. As a consequence, I did rewrite upon rewrite and the same things kept happening, only the way we got there altered. In the end, I gave in and let it happen. Lucifer understands himself better than I do, even when he contradicts himself.  
> 
> 
> Another thing that gave me a lot of trouble was Sam's mixed emotions towards Michael. My intention was to hide them here in the main story, and allow Michael to be a 100% the bad guy unless you read the side stories. Turns out, for me to make some of the problems Samifer encounters, I need to let those mixed emotions bleed through. Sorry about that. No matter how much Sam wants it to be black and white everything is grey.
> 
> But once I gave in and stopped trying to force the story to go where I planned it to, the flow came back. :D
> 
> This chapter has been Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). I don't know what I'd do without you. :')
> 
> [Here's a link to a vague timeline that covers key events in the whole 'verse, to make it easier to keep track. Tom's story is excluded from it, though, except for when he met Sam.](https://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/167606396605/okay-guys-i-made-a-simple-timeline-of-key-events)
> 
> So, without further ado, let's jump into it! ;)

* * *

**WHO GOES THERE?**

* * *

April 4th, 2014 - Thursday  
Castiel is on his way to meet Dean. It’s crowded on the way out of the arena. People are making their way out to the parking lot and he has to jostle his way forward. At one point he thinks he catches a familiar scent that he hasn’t smelt for years. It’s so vague he hardly notes it until several meters later. By then he thinks he’s imagined it due to Dean’s and his talk in the bathtub. The owner of that scent is safely tucked away in South America.

He stops to let a mother with her three children pass, getting an itch between his shoulder blades as if he’s being watched. He turns around, frowning. He’s sure he sees somebody duck behind a pillar behind him and backtracks towards it. He peeks behind it, ready for a fight, for anything. 

There’s nobody there.

Unease starts to crawl within his body. 

_It could just have been a paparazzi. I’m making myself paranoid._

The throbbing pain on his arm reminds him he’s got reason to be.

_Still. I can’t have seen what I thought I saw. He’s stationed in South America. I’m just working myself up. I saw Piotr earlier today, then all this talk about the_ Porodica _, then Luci goes missing mid-game without giving much of an explanation. It’s logical to get a bit riled up._

He turns around and keeps walking, scanning the crowd continuously, seeing nothing suspicious. And yet he can’t shake the feeling of being watched…

* * *

**CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON**

* * *

Sam knocks on Luci’s hotel room door, practically bouncing on his feet.

_Come on, come on, come on, come on! Open up! Please, be here!_

He’s so postgame excited, and wants to celebrate with Lucifer. He brought a bottle of champagne for them to share, but he’s not sure Luci actually _is_ here. He hasn’t answered his phone, and Sam hasn’t seen him since the beginning of third period.

There is a scraping sound from inside, the lock clicks open and Luci finally opens, peering out from a tiny crack with guarded eyes. He opens the door fully, cracking a wide smile when he spots Sam. He’s standing behind the wall to the side of―rather than in front of―the door. “Well, well. If it isn’t my boy king Sammy-my-name-is-Sam Winchester. Come on in, your majesty,” he says with a pleased smirk and does a playful bow.

Sam chuckles and strides inside, a spring in his step. “I _feel_ like a king! Holy crap, Luce. I've never fe―“ The scraping noise he'd heard while waiting makes him turn around and stop mid sentence. “Dude, what the hell?”

Luci is pulling an armchair in front of the now closed door. He's holding his gun in the hand that had been hidden from Sam upon entering. “I know, I know. With these wooden doors, it won't do much good. But at least no one will get in quietly,” he says with annoyance. He holsters the gun and turns towards Sam smiling. “Nevermind that. You were magnificent today. I took real pleasure out of watching you shine.”

Sam lets out a disbelieving laugh. “ _Nevermind?_ Are you for real? Why are you blocking the door?”

Luci sighs, tapping his chin with a finger absentmindedly while looking at the floor. “No. I suppose he wouldn’t just let that pass,” he mutters to himself. He looks up at Sam. “Apart from Mikey, at least one of the other браћа knows about you and me. This could be the ally I’ve been searching for. But there’s also a chance it’s a setup. I don't want to be lulled into a false sense of security while I ruminate around these matters. Hence, the precaution.”

“So you went into full paranoia instead. Yeah, good thinking,” Sam says with sarcastic bemusement to hide the thrill of fear.

Luci scrunches up his face in annoyance. “It’s not paranoia, Sam. It’s a minor precaution.”

“But if you think they’re coming for you - Cas, Dean, and I, are also in danger. We need to warn them. Cas and I saw two croats earlier today outside of a pharmacy.“

“Did you now... Were they following you?”

“No.”

Luci hums. “Anyone Cassie recognised?” he asks with keen interest.

“Yeah. Some guy named Piotr.”

Luci loses interest and makes a dismissive hand gesture. “In that case, I wouldn’t worry about it right now. Castiel has been sufficiently warned. We can talk about this tomorrow. Right now I want to hear about you, Sammy. How do you feel after this perfect game of yours?” He asks and saunters up to Sam, a small smile back in place.

Sam hesitates. The armchair unnerves him. So does the fact that Luci’s on his guard. At the same time he’s riding high on the euphoric feeling of playing the game of his life, and if Luci’s relaxed enough to trust they’ll be safe, then why shouldn’t he? He decides to honour Luci’s request and put the _Porodica_ discussion on the backburner for now. He smiles and holds up the champagne bottle. “I feel _awesome_! You got glasses, or should we just chug?”

Luci chuckles, a content sound from deep inside. His eyes get that fiercely possessive gleam in his eyes that makes Sam’s heart skip. He puts his hand in the middle of Sam’s chest and slowly backs him up towards the sofa, giving him a light shove to make him sit down. Sam’s grinning at him like a moron. Even more so when he with slow, loose, deliberate movements straddles Sam’s lap, head tilted, looking down at Sam, resting his forearms on Sam’s shoulders. He leans their foreheads together. “Talk to me, Sammy. Describe exactly how you felt, winning all by yourself.”

“It was a team effort, Luce.”

“I’m not a reporter, Sam. No need to pretend. I saw you dangle, feint, and cruise yourself through our defense while your teammates were busy playing in their sandbox and pulling each other’s pigtails.”

Sam grins, drops the champagne in the corner of the couch, and puts his hands on Luci’s thighs. “Look… I admit it. It _felt_ like I won by myself. Don’t tell the others, alright?” He strokes his hands upward on Luci’s thighs. Luci laughs silently, blowing out puffs of air through his nose. 

Luci leans back a little bit and tilts his head, looking down at Sam with heavy eyelids, highly amused. “Is that a real fear of yours, Sammy?” he says teasingly. “That I will tell _your_ teammates that you think you―accurately I might add―outperformed every single one of them?”

Sam huffs and gives him a rueful smile. “No. Guess not.”

“Good. Now tell me how you felt. Share with me, Sammy,” Luci coaxes and runs his fingers through Sam's hair, sending shivers down his spine. 

“I felt like…” Sam, always unable to resist Luci’s plea to share, starts talking. He describes the rush of hearing his name chanted, the forbidden feeling of superiority towards his peers (Luci wants to hear what he _really_ felt like, not what he’s supposed to have felt), the thrill of power like he was invincible. He describes what he thought and felt during particularly memorable feints he made, during the goals he made, how his stick felt like it had a built in puck magnet when he caught more or less every pass. He tells Luci this, all while Luci trails his fingers over his upper body, brushes his lips over Sam’s face, ear, and neck, feeling out his features softly. He moves slowly and deliberately. When he shifts, he does so with a slow gyrating movement of the hips. Every movement is careful and calculated, almost snake like, in a hypnotic way. It’s also _erotic_. Sam doesn’t believe Luci is oozing sex deliberately, but the outcome is the same―Sam’s getting painfully turned on. And they're not even kissing. Not only that, Lucifer looks and acts like he’s getting aroused too. His cheeks are getting ruddy, his pupils are huge, his gaze _hungry_. Even his breath is getting heavier. It’s like he’s getting off on hearing Sam describe feeling powerful, like a god.

It’s maddening. 

Sam tries to keep still. All he wants to do is grab Luci’s hips and pull him as close as he can, grinding his dick against Luci’s crotch. He wants to squeeze Luci’s ass with one hand, put the other around his back, then lay him down on the couch for some heavy third base action. No. What he really, _really_ wants is for _Luci_ to do that to him. To just overtake him and… yeah. Best not to get his imagination going on that one. It’s not allowed. Not after what happened the other day. He’s already crossed Luci’s line once. It’s so hard when every touch elicits goosebumps and shivers, makes his pulse jump like electricity, and every move Luci makes is so _seductive_. It's foreplay at its best. 

As if to underline that it's not on the table, every time Sam's hands wander to grip Luci’s hips, or to cup his ass, Lucifer takes his hands and firmly puts them back on his thighs in a silent reprimand. 

When Sam’s hips push up of their own behalf, meeting half hard resistance, Lucifer suddenly pushes Sam back against the backrest and leans away. “Maybe you should go down to the bar and find someone to get that out of your system with,” Luci says, winded and slack jawed, eyes friggin glazed. 

“ _What?_ ”

“You’re having trouble restraining yourself. I think it'd be a good idea for you to sate those urges before we continue.”

_Is he friggin kidding me???_

But no. Luci doesn’t look like he's kidding _at all._

Sam’s dumbfounded and frustrated. “No! It doesn't work that way, Luce. I can’t go fuck someone else, then come back here and _not_ get turned on by you. I'm sorry I make you uncomfortable, but look at you!”

Luci scrunches up his face in a troubled expression, like the point is flying right by him.

“You’re doing this to me, Lucifer. And there's this,” Sam says and bold as brass gives Luci’s semi a quick squeeze, just to hold up his hands, palms outward, and turn his head away, exposing his throat the next instant, when a thrill of fear warns him of the risk of a reprimanding backhand.

It doesn’t come. Luci’s reaction to getting his dick squeezed is a gasp and a jackknifing jerk, then nothing. Sam dares looking back, thinking that if Luci doesn’t punish him right away, he won’t.

Luci’s looking down at his semi with a troubled expression. He seems to be thinking ‘Little dude, what _are_ you doing??’ and Sam can barely keep himself from laughing. “Lucifer, get off me. Please? I want to show you something,” Sam asks, careful not to sound like he’s giving an order, still holding his submissive position. 

Luci glances up at him and then climbs off him without a word. Sam gets to his feet and takes Lucifer’s hand, pulling him along to a mirror. He grabs Luci’s shoulders and squares him up in front of it, placing himself behind him.

“Look at yourself, and look at me. Do you see it?”

“I don’t get what I’m supposed to be seeing, Sammy,” Luci answers bemusedly. 

Sam smiles lopsidedly at him in the mirror. He winds his arms around Luci’s midriff and leans his chin on his shoulder. He thrills at how the holstered gun brushes his arm, underlining how dangerous Luci really is. He starts talking, wanting Luci to understand. “Look at your pupils. You’re blushing and breathing heavily. You look hungry. Then look at me. You see it? So get this, you _look_ like you're as turned on as I am. Even if you don't feel it the same way. It doesn’t matter if I've just had a threesome marathon or friggin whatever. I'm always gonna be turned on by you when you’re like this, okay? I can't control that.”

Luci hums thoughtfully and rests his arms over Sam’s, comparing their equally debauched appearance in the mirror. 

Sam chuckles. “Maybe if you're gonna pull a tease like that again, you could tie me up..?”

“You should have enough self control not to need restraints,” Luci states with a little frown. Then his face smooths out into thoughtfulness again and he tilts his head. “Unless that's something you want?”

Sam bends his neck, turning his head to hide his face in Luci’s hair. “I dunno. Maybe?”

Luci purses his lips. “Hmm. I would have presumed you'd have been put off of being tied up by what Mikey did to you.”

Sam lets go of Luci and steps away, heart suddenly hammering and discomfort crawling inside of him. “Could you please not talk about Michael while we're talking about our sexlife?”

Lucifer turns around to look at him, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling his lip in thought. “Did Mikey rape you?”

Sam sputters indignantly. “No! Of course not!” Michael would do a lot of things, but never that. 

“There’s nothing ‘of course’ about it. Mikey’s sexual appetite rivals your own. He’s not very particular about whether his partners are willing or not.” Luci shrugs nonchalantly, like rape isn’t that big of a deal. 

For some reason Sam feels a bit insulted on Michael’s behalf. He can’t explain why, and he hates himself for the wave of protectiveness towards the monster that tortured him for years, but he’s sure Michael would never do that. Not to him. “He made me a promise when I was fourteen that there'd be no fucking between us, my family and friends would be safe too, as long as I came without a fight when he picked me up, and didn't tell anyone about him,” Sam says, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at the carpet. “Besides, he didn’t want me that way anyway.”

Luci snorts skeptically. “Sure, not when you were fourteen, he’s not a child molester. But when you were nearing eighteen he wanted you alright. I know Mikey well enough to tell you that. If he didn't touch you it’s because he was honouring his promise. Without a loophole he wouldn’t break it. And you kept your end of the bargain, leaving him no choice but to keep himself in check.”

Sam tries not to squirm in place. 

“You _did_ keep your end of the bargain, didn't you?” Luci says, sounding suspicious. He’s so difficult to lie to. Sam hasn’t, in fact, honoured his bargain. He’s told one person what's been happening to him. The same lover that had sent him the lucky charm he keeps on him at all times lately. Sam gets defensive. 

“Oh my god, Luce! Don't call it a bargain. That implies I had a choice. And did you actually think he might have done something like that to me, and didn't do a thing to stop it?”

Luci shrugs. “Believe me, Sammy, I never wanted you to suffer through anything of what he did to you. But I had to choose loyalties and weigh the risks. You were safer as Mikey’s plaything than you are now. Everyone involved was safer. He’s my most beloved family. It wouldn’t be worse than anything else he did to you. Knowing him, he might even have made it good for you.”

Sam raises his chin defiantly. “He’s not your family anymore, I am. I'm your boy king.” It comes out a lot harder and more demanding than he expected. It’s Lucifer’s moniker for him and he's wielding it like a weapon, not sure if it'll have any effect. But he’s still riled up from the game, riding high. On top of that he’s been burdened with a guilty conscience since they stole and burned the car. So much could have gone wrong. People could have gotten killed. Innocent people. And he’d enjoyed himself far too much, something he feels the need to distance himself from, or he’d be no better than Michael.

Lucifer’s features go hard, eyes darkening. Sam stands his ground, but not without fear. Luci’s lips draw to a thin line, he snaps his fingers and points down at the carpet beside him. A silent command for Sam to come to him. Sam’s hit with a flare of panic. He’s finally getting everything he wants and he’s risking it for what exactly? Why is he pissing Luci off?

He comes, trying to hide his insecurity. “Look, I'm sorry, Luce.”

Lucifer reaches for him and pulls him in, pushing Sam's head against his shoulder. It’s a comforting gesture, rather than a reprimand. “Sam. We’re going to need every ally we can get from my family. They’re all dangerous and protective people. I don’t love all of them as much, but I will still count them as my family as long as they accept my choice to have you. Even Mikey. _Especially_ Mikey, should he ever come around.” Luci’s voice is soft and soothing. His hand stroking Sam's hair is gentle. Nothing matches the dark anger that had been there before Sam's forehead was rested against his shoulder, preventing Sam from seeing. “Michael has been my best friend and companion for as long as I can remember. He was there for me in the aftermath of every traumatic experience I’ve ever had, growing up. He was there for me after the first time I killed, he held me when nightmares woke me up, he comforted me after my dog died, he’s forsaken his own wants and needs for me countless of times. Very much like Dean’s done for you. If he ever rebels against _Otac_ I'll forgive him in a heartbeat. He's the best ally we can get. It’s not likely that he will rebel, though.” He turns his head and places a soft kiss on Sam’s temple. “But unless you ask me to, I won’t speak of him again.”

Sam’s heart is hammering, a lot of mixed emotions jumbling his mind. Guilt, caused by the hidden grief that must underlie the calm cadence of Lucifer’s voice. Vindictiveness, because Luci chose _him_. Fear of Michael ever ‘coming around’, curiosity about Luci’s upbringing. Excitement. Anger at hearing about Michael’s good sides. He’s trying very hard to keep the image of Michael as a monster. He doesn’t want to understand. He definitely doesn't want to be compared to Michael, not concerning sexual appetite, not concerning _anything_. So he deflects by changing the subject. “What turned you on? You said before that you respond to touch like anyone else, but I didn't touch your dick this time, and you had a semi.”

Luci snorts in amusement. “I hadn't noticed that until you gave me a squeeze.” He steps away far enough to be able to meet Sam's gaze. He’s no longer angry, instead he looks sheepish. “I'll admit, it's a new and unanticipated reaction.”

Sam’s confidence returns. He smirks lopsidedly and tilts his head forward and to the side, looking at Luci from under bangs he doesn’t really have anymore, eyes narrowed. Sly, teasing. His stomach swoops when Luci’s response is a playful, predatory gleam in his eyes, and a quirk of the lip. It’s so strange, that Luci isn’t immune to his viles. Luci _trained_ him for God’s sake! “I'm irresistible, huh?”

Luci laughs silently, shoulders shaking and eyes full of mirth. “Not quite, but…” he puts his hands by Sam's hips, hitching his fingers under the sweater and stroking upward, bringing the shirt along while his fingers burns a trail upward. Sam’s breath hitches. “I'll tell you what, Sammy- _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester. We’ll take a heuristic approach to this sex business. I'm going to undress you. Then I'll bring you to the bedroom and use my belts to tie you to the bed like you want me to―“

“I didn’t say―“ Sam protests, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

Lucifer sniggers. “Yes you did. You don’t have to be ashamed to admit it. And it's not a bad idea. You’re beautiful when you're aroused, but I'm not sure exactly how I feel about the intensity of your desire when it's directed towards me.” He lifts the shirt over Sam’s head and Sam lifts his arms to help. Once it’s off Luci drops it to the floor. “So I'm removing all responsibility of self control from you tonight. I want to find out what makes you tick, sexually.”

“It's different when it's you. I wouldn't let just anyone… some things, it's just…” Sam flusters, making Luci’s lips twitch into a smug smirk.

Lucifer slowly undoes Sam’s belt, racking up anticipation. He hums, purses his lips, seems to consider something. ”I'm not going to let you loose, even if you ask for it. You can scream yourself hoarse if you want. Not that I think you'll have to, since I’ll be taking it slow and be gentle. Just in case, I want you to be aware of it. We’re not done until I say so. You enter that bedroom, there's no safeword, no time limit. I'll let you go when I'm satisfied.”

Sam's fully hard again, making it a blessing when Luci pulls the zipper down and push the jeans down his hips until they fall to the floor by their own volition. He’s full of thrilled anticipation. He doesn’t know what Luci will do to him. He only knows that Luci will touch him and he will not be able to overstep. Being tied up with no chance of getting free shouldn’t sound so enticing. Not for him, with his past. And yet...

Lucifer looks down at Sam's erection tenting his underwear and sniggers. Then he looks up again, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and tuts.

Sam’s cheeks feel hot. He can’t help the feeling of shame his arousal brings when Luci’s involved. He feels respectless. Yet they’ve come a long way in a short time, since Luci decided he was okay with acknowledging Sam’s sex drive.

Luci turns and walks towards the bedroom. He doesn’t turn to see if Sam follows. Sam hesitates. He trusts Luci. The conditions laid out are basically the same as Michael had spelled out for him concerning pain, but with less choice about whether to follow or not. Once it starts he'll have no way to stop it. Just like Cas with the joyride. It’s the big red button. Push it and _anything_ could happen. Of course, he’s going to follow Luci. It’s just frustrating that Luci always _knows_ what he'll do before he does it.

He squares himself and walks into the bedroom where Luci’s laid out a couple of belts on the bed, currently smoothing them out. If he'd been anyone else, Sam would have said he was fussing. But Luci’s calm and collected when he turns around. “It’s not ideal. I’d have preferred a frame, and cuffs for the purpose, to make sure…” Luci falls silent with a rueful smile. “I suppose a frame is out of the question anyway, huh? Don't worry about it. We'll make do with what we have.” Luci walks up to Sam, puts his hands on Sam’s hips, hooks his fingers in Sam’s underwear and sinks down to his knees, taking them with him. Sam steps out of them and watches Luci stare at his erection. It’s right in front of his face, and Luci looks apprehensive, biting his lip.

“Luce. You don’t have to do this.”

Luci looks up at him with his head tilted and a troubled squint. “You don’t want me to?”

“Of course I do! But―”

“Then don’t tell me not to.” Luci gets up in a fluid motion and points towards the bed, snapping his fingers demandingly. 

Sam situates himself in the middle of the bed, lying on his back. Luci follows. He grabs Sam by an ankle, takes a belt and makes short work out of creating and securing a restraint on the bed frame. He repeats the process on the other leg. Since Sam’s so tall he spreads Sam’s arms straight out to the side when he secures them, limiting his wiggle room. Then Luci gets off the bed and stands beside it, one arm crossing his chest, the other hand pulling his lip thoughtfully. “Test your bindings, Sammy.”

Sam obeys. He’s well and truly stuck, and when he pulls on his restraints they tighten. His heart hammers quickly in his chest. How many times has he been suspended and tied up in his life? He thinks that maybe it should terrify him. Maybe it should trigger bad memories, but it doesn’t. All he feels is anticipation.

“Can’t get out of them? Try harder. Make an honest attempt at escape,” Luci bids him.

Sam stills. “You’re doing it again. Thinking about the future. Planning. Trying to train me,” he accuses.

Luci hums and shrugs dismissively. Instead of repeating the order he comes back to the bed and climbs on top of Sam, straddling his thighs. He has a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but his expression doesn’t give much away except for cogs ticking inside his brain. He trails soft fingers over Sam’s belly and chest, watching the goosebumps that rise in their wake. “You know… we had porn playing on at least one television at home, at all times. We had access to it from the moment we were able to move about on our own.”

“That’s messed up. _Why?_ ”

Luci chuckles and runs his hands over Sam’s nipples. Gently at first, then pinching them, increasing the pressure until it hurts and Sam gasps, hips bucking. “ _Otac_ wanted us desensitized. Sex isn’t supposed to be a big deal to us, whether it’s something outside of our realm of interests, like for me, or screwing anyone or anything, frequently and with great enthusiasm like for―” He clears his throat. “...some of the others,” he mumbles with a sheepish expression.

It’s not like Sam doesn’t get that Luci almost slipped up and said Michael, despite his promise earlier. Sam couldn’t care less because Luci bends down and kisses him, hands still paying attention to his nipples. Luci drags his lips along Sam’s jaw, down to his throat, then nips at his collarbone. He proceeds to map out Sam’s body with mouth and fingers, keeping away from Sam's erection. This is different from what he'd done on the couch. He's not oozing sex, doesn't appear to get aroused. On the other hand, he doesn't appear to be uncomfortable. His touches are reverent, familiar, even if it's new that he follows it up with his mouth. Sam tries to focus on both what Luci just said and the sensation of what’s being done to him. What Luci just said… Sex is a _huge_ deal to him. Sam gets that. He gets that it’s centered around Sam’s needs and that it’s the only reason it is an issue, to begin with. Lucifer and _Otac’s_ other boys are on top of the food chain. They always get their wishes respected, and as such, sex isn’t a big deal for someone like Luci who isn’t interested in it.

What that means is lost on Sam as Luci suddenly bites down on his midriff, tongue flat against skin and fingers digging in. Sam keens. Luci chuckles in amusement and does it again. And again. Placing slow, wet bites just on the right side of painful all over Sam’s torso. The fabric of Luci’s jeans scratches at his legs. It’s a thing for Sam. Being naked while Lucifer isn’t. (Or anyone he’d consider ‘above’ himself.) It’s one of those things that Michael should have ruined, but didn’t. Michael used to make him undress and fold his clothes neatly out of the way, so they wouldn’t get dirty or ruined before he tied Sam up for a ‘play session’. Despite that, it’s a major turn on. (Maybe that’s where it stems from? If so, Sam doesn’t want to think about it.) Sam allows himself to get lost in it, hips rolling, tugging at his bonds, getting sweaty and worked up. Luci stops with an amused expression just to loosen the bindings a bit since Sam’s struggling has caused them to tighten to cut off the blood flow. Sam had barely noticed how his limbs started to go cold and numb, so it’s lucky one of them has their wits about them.

Luci sits up straddling his thighs again. He takes his gun out of its holster and lays it on Sam’s chest, then removes his shoulder holster and throws it on the floor.

Sam hardly notices what Luci does after the gun is placed on top of him. The cold metal of the gun feels like ice against his heaving chest. Goosebumps erupt around it but not from the chill. Sam stares at the deadly weapon as if hypnotized. 

Luci tuts mockingly. “Well, well. Looks like I caught you lying to me, Sammy- _my-name-is-Sam_ Winchester.”

Sam's gaze snaps up to find Luci smirking dryly, heavy eyelids lowered like a content cat. “About what?”

“You told me you weren't into gunplay, but with how this,” he flicks Sam's erection, “started drooling when I put my gun on you, I can tell you weren't being honest with me.” Luci looks like it's all a grand joke. He picks up the gun and caresses Sam's cheek and jaw with it, down to the cushion of his lower lip. Sam's exhale warbles. He can smell metal and gun oil - this close it translates into taste. “You know I don't carry it just because it's pretty…” Luci continues musingly. “I haven't bothered keeping count of how many lives I've taken with since it was given to me.” Luci trails the gun lower, onto Sam's chest, then presses the muzzle over his heart. “I prefer to be quick and efficient. One shot here,” he presses the gun harder against Sam's chest, “...and one shot here.” He lifts the gun to press the muzzle against Sam's forehead. 

Sam whimpers, breath coming in rapid puffs and exhilaration dancing under his skin. “ _Luce_ …”

Luci isn't holding his finger on the trigger, and the safety is on. It doesn't stop Sam from feeling excitement and the best kind of fear. When Luci caresses his face with the gun and once more rests the cold barrel against the cushion of his bottom lip, he lets his mouth fall open to touch the metal with the tip of his tongue.

Luci stares as if transfixed, biting his lip, with an almost giddy gleam in his eyes. He holds the gun in place and bends his neck to look at Sam’s erection for a couple of beats, then he surprises Sam by grabbing the erection with his free hand. Sam gasps and rolls his hips upward as much as he can. “Sometimes I want to take my time. Play with my prey. I rarely do, because I’m competent enough to not ruin a mission. I prefer not to coin scenes. I enjoy following the police investigations, to see them flounder and follow false leads… Like Gordon Walker for an instance. I wanted to take my time with him. I wanted to see him scream and suffer. I wanted him to beg and grovel. Wouldn’t you have liked that too, Sam?”

_Yes!_ The things Sam would have wanted Gordon to suffer through for what he did to Cas, would have made Michael look like an amateur. He makes a breathy sound and tugs at his restraints.

Luci strokes up and down slowly on his shaft, cheeks colouring slightly. But there’s no distress in his face. “Answer me, Sammy. Yes or no?”

“Luce, please don’t…”

Luci tuts and stops stroking. “Now, now, Sammy. It’s a simple enough question. Would you have wanted me to make him suffer more?”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut. “ _Yes._ ” The word is practically ripped out of him. He doesn’t want to admit shit like that out loud. He’s a good person. Good people do not wish suffering on other people. They kill because they have to and toil under the burden of a guilty conscience for doing so. He doesn’t _want_ to be like his tormentors or acknowledge the fiercely burning satisfaction of knowing Luci killed Gordon Walker.

The gun trails down his chest and Luci starts stroking his cock again with a dark chuckle. “Maybe you would have wanted to punish him yourself? If you’d gotten the chance, what would you have done to him?” The gun is rubbed against Sam’s cockhead, smearing his precome.

Sam opens his eyes to see Luci wearing a gleefully, excited expression. “Luce, no. Can we _please_ not go there?”

“You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can come up with something…” Luci bites his lip over a smile, eyes wide and anticipatory.

That’s not the problem. He can come up with a very wide range of ideas of what to do with someone like Gordon Walker, that had hurt someone he loves. Michael had seen to that, and he doesn’t want to be like Michael. Lucifer’s rough hand stroking his shaft, the gun on his cockhead―it’s thrilling, intoxicating, coursing arousal through him. But he’s starting to get ill at ease about it all. Because something’s changed. Sex is a big deal for Luci. He’s not comfortable with the type of heat Sam feels about him. But right now, Luci’s as relaxed and playful as you can get, and that, to Sam, can only mean one thing. Luci’s veered away from regarding this as a sexual act and slipped into some kind of predator playing with prey mode. There’s something about the playful, focused gleam in his eyes that reminds too much of how Michael looked at him when he talked during their sessions. It adds to Sam’s discomfort with the topic. “I thought you said you don’t take pleasure out of stuff like that?”

Luci makes a vexed expression. “Not if it isn’t justified, no. But if anyone goes after my people…” Luci shrugs and trails the gun lower to caress Sam's balls. The coldness make them pull up.

“Are you going to put that inside of me?” The words tumble out of Sam’s mouth almost in panic, chest heaving. He's not sure what he feels about that thought. 

Luci scoffs and lets go of his dick as well as raising the gun, bending his elbow to point the muzzle towards the ceiling. “Don’t be stupid, Sammy, it’s a loaded gun. I’m not some moronic YouTuber looking for views.”

Sam stares at him, breathing raggedly, but doesn’t answer.

Luci makes a discontent noise and puts the gun away on the nightstand, within range in case he’ll need it. Sam’s tied up so he can’t move, there’s an armchair pushed against the hotel room door and Luci thinks he needs his gun close. It’s absurd and turns Sam on, to a degree that’s so mortifying he wants to fucking cry in shame. He’s got this view of himself, ideals, that are shattered by this. As if the shame of wanting Luci when Luci doesn’t want him back the same way, isn’t enough. 

Apparently, Luci’s on a roll when it comes to jab at those exact spots that Sam’s the most ashamed of. Luci crosses his arm over his chest, leans his elbow against it and taps a finger thoughtfully against his pursed lips while regarding Sam. “When you fantasise about me, what do you fantasise about?”

“I don’t fantasise about you.”

“I find that very hard to believe, Sammy. Considering how many times I’ve felt this,” he taps a finger lightly against Sam’s cockhead making it twitch. Precome sticks to Luci’s finger, “poke at me over the years.” Luci frowns thoughtfully at his sticky finger, and rubs the precome experimentally between thumb and forefinger. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

That makes Luci look back at him lazily. “Oh, I know. I never reprimanded you for it, did I?” He shrugs with a dismissive hand wave, deeming it inconsequential. “But you must have fantasised. Share with me, Sammy.”

“I swear I didn’t.” Luci frowns in annoyance at him, clearly displeased with the answer, so Sam goes on. “I-I-I had dreams about it. I mean, I can’t control what I dream about.”

Luci lets out a pleased hum. He leans down and crosses his arms over Sam’s chest, supporting himself enough to look Sam straight in the eyes, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. With the way Sam’s suspended, he can’t reach to get much friction even if his dick brushes Luci’s belly. “What did we do, in your dreams?” Luci asks.

“Do we have to do this?” Sam protests.

Luci huffs in annoyance. “Yes. I’d say we do. You said so yourself. You can’t get it out of your system by fucking someone else, since I’m the one turning you on.” He sighs, the annoyance melting into something more casual. “Whether or not we’re going to actually do any of the things you might want, is another matter. But right now it’s like I’m an avid sports fan that knows everything about the game theoretically, and you’ve handed me a stick and a pair of skates and pushed me onto the ice without explaining which team I’m playing for, when I’ve never ever skated before in my life. I need you to give me this part of you.” 

“Alright.” Sam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He’s too embarrassed to look at Luci while telling him this. The restraints digging into his wrists are oddly comforting, leaving him no way to get away. “I, uh… I dreamed you were, uh…” Sam swallows. Why does this have to be so hard? Luci sits up and starts trailing his fingers over his chest. These featherlight, reverent and indulgent touches help. “You were touching me like you are now, healing me, like you used to do after…” He skips out mentioning Michael’s name. “I was naked, lying on my stomach. You uh… you bent down and started to caress me with your lips, placing butterfly kisses… then alternated it with biting painfully.”

“You liked that?”

“Yeah… It was just a little pain.”

“And what if it wasn’t ‘just a little’? Would you still have liked it?” Luci asks curiously and pinches his nipples, making him gasp.

“Yes,” Sam admits when Luci runs the palms of his hands in a light whisper over the nipples he just abused. He can feel his cheeks heat up at the admission. He’s not supposed to like it after what he’s been through.

Luci hums. “I’ve always thought mudmonkeys have such a limited definition of pain,” he muses. “They make it out to be something bad and evil. Yet some people I know revel in it. Not just to mete it out, I might add for your benefit. Within the right context, I too can appreciate it. Sparring with Cassie, when he gets a good hit in, I feel alive. I trust him to keep my best interest at heart and that allows me to enjoy it. I never want to hurt you, Sam. But if causing you pain is pleasurable to you, then I wouldn’t really be hurting you, now would I?”

That… that’s a thought that Sam finds comforting, bleeding some shame away. “No.”

“What else happened?” Luci probes.

“Your hand… it trailed down to my ass, and you started to, um. Jezus, this is embarrassing.”

Luci sniggers. “Go on.”

“You started fucking me with your fingers. Then you were naked all the sudden, because in dreams, um… And you rolled on top of me. You put a hand between my shoulder blades, and with the other you pushed my head down in the grass, taking me… kinda roughly, like you, uh, like you owned me.”

Luci huffs. It’s a sound between disbelief and amusement. Luci _does_ own him. It’s always been understood, if unstated. “Then what?”

“Nothing. I woke up.”

“That sounds surprisingly vanilla. I’d expect something more elaborate from you, Sammy. I know you’re in advanced placement sexually. I’m almost disappointed,” Luci teases.

Sam opens his eyes. “You don’t get it, Luce. It wasn’t _allowed_. It was so taboo I couldn’t even think these thoughts when I was awake. Any time you touched me and my body reacted the forbidden way, I hoped to God you wouldn’t notice, and I told myself it was just teenage hormones that had nothing to do with how I felt for you. It was anything but vanilla. It wasn’t a taboo, it was _The_ taboo. I still feel guilty about feeling this way about you, reacting this way, because _you don’t._ ”

Sam can’t understand Luci’s expression right now. He has his head tilted and facial muscles keep twitching, like he can’t decide if he’s going to frown, smirk smugly, or make an annoyed grimace. The twitches are subtle and not possible to fully interpret.

Sam makes a frustrated noise and closes his eyes. He regrets his tone of voice because the end of the rant had sounded like an accusation. Luci can’t help how he feels any more than Sam can. Lucifer _loves_ him. There’s no doubt about it. The choice Luci made, to risk his life to be with Sam. How Luci’s last action when Michael was about to pull the trigger after their fight, was to flip over to his side to protect him… “I’m sorry, Luce. It was never about sex, it wasn’t what called me to you. I don’t need it from you. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it.”

Luci hums thoughtfully again. He moves off Sam. A pillow is placed over Sam’s crotch, then his legs are nudged to spread as far as they will go in their bindings―which is to say, not very far, since he isn’t tied up spread eagle―and Luci crawls on top of him to lie down between them. Luci makes a discontent sound, crawls off him, and then Sam can hear the jingling of a belt being unbuckled. He opens his eyes to see Luci removing his jeans with a determined expression, kicking them off the bed, then coming to crawl on top of him again, laying down.

“What are y― _mbff_!” Sam’s silenced by a kiss, and not just a press of lips either. No. Luci’s all but forcing his tongue into Sam’s mouth in a non-verbal ‘Shut the fuck up.’ Luci rolls his hips and hooks his arms under Sam’s armpits to grip his head. He bites Sam's lip hard enough to draw blood, then sucks it into his mouth to soothe it with his tongue and light suction all while he keeps rolling his hips.

_YES!_

Sam kisses back, hips bucking. Luci’s kisses are hard and demanding. He's heavy―a very welcome weight―only in underwear and tee. He fists Sam's hair and tugs his head back to expose his throat, then kisses his way down, alternating with biting, then licking at his bites. Not as hard as he bit Sam's lip or to leave long lasting marks, but hard enough for it to hurt. 

Sam's gasping and rutting upwards to meet Luci’s every hip roll. Even with the pillow compressed between their hips Sam can feel that Lucifer is hard now. ‘ _My body reacts to touch like everybody else's_.’ Sam puts that out of his mind and gives himself over to all the sensation. His dick gets massaged with good friction and all he can think of is that Lucifer is fucking him. He wants to wrap his arms around Luci to hold on. He wants to have _more_. More skin to skin contact, more kissing, more pain and more pleasure. He's grateful for the bindings, preventing him from overstepping. 

Lucifer steps up the pace, ruts hard and fast, bending his neck to pant wetly against Sam's skin. His mouth a hot gash of sin. This is a sin. The breaking of a holy decree of a religion Sam swore himself to, when he first met the godlike creature on top of him. This is not _allowed_. People can claim that this isn't real sex all they want. They're _wrong_. 

Both of them are sweating and breathing raggedly. Luci lets go of Sam's hair to grip his shoulders. His face is flushed from exertion and his blond hair sticks to his forehead, turned a dark ash from slick sweat. 

“ShitohmygodLuciferI’mgonnacome!”

Luci keeps up his punishing grind but lifts his head to watch Sam come undone. Sam tries to keep eye contact. He wants to. Luci’s ruddy face is set in hard determination, eyes mad and feverish, lips rolled into a thin, gritted line, almost his fighting face, but not quite. Sam love love loves everything about that expression. But he’s coming and his eyes squeeze shut by by their own volition when he starts getting oversensitive. He jerks and wiggles to get some relief, but Luci doesn’t stop.

Sam knows he’s making sounds continuously, but he’s not really registering what those are. Luci goes on for minutes. Sam opens his eyes to find Luci has his lips pulled back into a toothy snarl around strained pants. His eyes are shut under a sweat slicked frown of concentration.

Then Luci’s mouth fall open and his rhythm stutters, breath coming in short gasps, before he collapses, breathing heavily in exertion. Sam’s mind is full of awe and white noise. He’s 99% certain Luci just came. Sam legit doesn’t know how to process that. “I love you,” he says, without a conscious decision to do so.

“As you should,” Luci answers and pushes himself up on straight arms to look down at Sam with such an aloof expression that Sam can’t help the laughter that comes bubbling up. If anything, it just makes Luci look more smug. “I’m going to release you now. Keep lying still.”

He rolls off Sam and quickly releases the belts holding him fettered, then takes one of the hands and starts massaging blood back into it, breathing still strained and focus directed at the hand he’s working with. Sam starts to roll onto his side to better look at Luci, but Luci makes a sharp “ _Uh!_ ” sound in reprimand so Sam falls back again. Luci snaps his fingers and points at Sam's other hand. Sam obediently gives him the hand and watches Luci alternate between massaging his hands from numbness, through pins and needles, and finally relief. His expression is one of introspection. Sam can see how he’s withdrawn, mulling things over.

Luci has a dark spot on his underwear and Sam’s so in love his ribcage can’t contain his heart. “Thank you.”

Luci snorts in amusement but doesn’t answer.

“You make me feel whole.”

Luci’s lips twitch in humour and his gaze flicks to Sam. “Feeling a bit sappy over there, Sammy?”

“Mmm. How could you tell?” Sam smiles adoringly at him.

Luci sniggers and looks down at what he’s doing again, but a small smile remains on his face. “Don’t count on this to become a habit, though…”

“I’m not.”

Luci hums noncommittally and goes on to massage Sam’s feet and ankles, then he gets up and heads for the bathroom. Sam starts to sit up but Luci snaps his fingers and points on the bed without turning to look. 

Sam chuckles and flops down again. “So bossy,” he mutters with humour and waits for Luci to return. Luci comes back with a wet washcloth. He's washed himself and changed underwear. He removes the ruined pillow, and washes Sam’s messy dick purposefully. Then he goes to fetch Sam’s clothes and dresses Sam. It feels weird to just be still and let someone else dress you, only helping a little when prompted to. Sam’s allowed to sit up while Luci gets dressed. He looks down at his wrists and the nasty bruises forming on them. He chuckles. “Dude, how hard did I pull my restraints?”

“Mmhm. Should we ever repeat this, I’d prefer if we used broad leather cuffs lined with lambswool. I don’t want to cause permanent damage and I hadn’t counted on you getting off on purposefully tightening your bindings. Unless you think wooly cuffs would trigger bad memories for you?” Luci tilts his head and looks at Sam with an imploring squint.

Sam considers it. “I don’t think so. As I remember it, they were rather comfortable,” he reminiscence. 

Luci hums and pulls a thick hoodie over his head. He’s now dressed in more clothes than he was when Sam came here. 

Sam reflects that Luci had been fairly quick to seek distance, then to order Sam into complete impassivity. He doesn’t look distressed or uncomfortable. Just… introspective. “Are you alright?”

“Possibly. Probably. Haven’t decided yet,” Luci answers loftily and makes one of his dismissive hand waves as if it doesn’t matter. “I’m hungry, though. What do you say? Order some room service and empty the champagne?”

“Sounds great.” Sam smiles warmly, feeling a mix of guilt and contentment. 

Luci grabs his holster and his gun, then motions for Sam to follow into the living room area of the suit. After a call to the front desk and another dazzling display of paranoia when the food is delivered, (that Luci doesn’t want to talk about just yet) they settle on the couch to eat, drink, and talk. Luci keeps a slight buffer zone between them to start with, but after having eaten they settle in to watch the game and Luci unfolds his arm in an invitation for Sam to lean on his shoulder. Sam relaxes, thinking that if Luci’s felt discomfort about what they did, surely, it must be gone by now.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, drop me a comment. :) If nothing else just to say "Hi" to show me you're still around. ;)


	84. Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's not a happy camper. Cas is twitchy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter interlude. Those of you who read Going Rogue will know who the unseen stalker is. ;)
> 
> And thank you for all the love I've received! It feels good to be back only to discover that Y'all are still with me! :D <3<3<3
> 
> This chapter has been Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

**IN THE SHADOWS**

* * *

April 4th, 2014 - Thursday  
Castiel can’t shake the feeling of being followed. He even takes a different route than planned, trying to shake his imaginary tail. No matter how vigilant he is, he can’t spot anyone.

_Either I’m a completely paranoid wanker jumping at shadows, or I’m tailed by a pro that’s much more skilled than I am._

_I’m giving it a 50/50 chance of being just paranoia…_

Knowing what forces they’re dealing with once the _Porodica_ decides to kick up a fuss, a little paranoia is in order.

When he gets to the meeting spot, Dean’s already there. It’s an unlit, abandoned alley behind a closed down drug store. Lamplight filters in from the ‘busier’ street beyond, but very few people are out at this time of night in the cold. Dean’s leaned against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest, silently fuming. He pushes himself away from the wall and squares himself in front of Cas. “The hell, man? The fuck were you thinking?”

“I did what needed to be done to help you hide the true nature of our relationship, Dee. As it stands, you can choose to whom, and when you come out to people,” Cas answers, trying to hide his annoyance.

“Fuck that shit! You kissed Sam _on live television_.”

“It was an acted kiss, Dean. I love _you_ , and Sam knows that.”

Dean throws up his hands with an annoyed eye roll. “That’s not the issue, asshole! You painted a fucking target on my kid brother’s back! Now he’ll be known as a fucking fag nationwide! You shoulda run that plan by me so I could fucking veto it!”

_Oh._ Cas feels a bit stupid about not considering Dean’s worry about Sam’s safety. Still.

Cas draws himself up and pins Dean with a cold stare. “Sam’s been wanting to come out since he was a teen. The only person whose judgement he’s feared is _yours_. He’ll be delighted to hear that your reaction was to call him a ‘fucking fag’,” Cas snipes, making air quotes.

“Hey, fuck you! That’s not true and you know it! You still shoulda run it by me! Had I known you would do what you did, I coulda told you to kiss me instead. I ain’t gonna let Sam suffer in my stead!”

“If you had the balls to come out of the closet, to begin with, it wouldn’t have been necessary. And are you not listening to me? _Sam. Wanted. To. Come out._ He’d have announced his bisexuality the moment you were out, had he not done what he did today.”

“Like hell, he would! And some experimenting in High School doesn’t make him bi, Cas. It makes him―”

“Listen to yourself, Dean! You sound like a bloody twat! You don’t have the right to define Sam’s sexuality. Nor do you have the right to veto when and how he comes out, any more than I’ve got the right to decide for _you_ ,” Cas argues back, getting angry.

Dean’s eyes flash dangerously. “If you―” he starts in a growl and grabs Cas’ upper arm, just below the shoulder. Cas―unprepared―sucks in a startled, pained breath and grimaces before he can hide it, and Dean cuts off whatever he was about to say. Still scowling, he blinks in surprise and lets go of Cas, just to push Cas’ leather jacket off in the next instant. Cas’ heart jackhammers nervously when Dean grabs his shirts and pulls them both over his head. Dean’s focus is wholly on the arm where he’d grabbed Cas and made him gasp. He doesn’t care about Cas’ skin goosebumping from the cold. Dean spots the bandage. There are a couple of spots where it has bled through. Dean starts unwinding the bandage with a determined look on his face, laying the carving bare. “What the hell?”

“Dean―”

“Lucifer did this to you, didn’t he? The fucking psycho. I swear, I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

“Dean, _no_. It’s not what you think. It’s a pledge of allegiance. I’ve been asking for him to do it,” Cas pleads, trying to calm the beast.

“A pledge of allegiance?! What, are you fucking _mad_? He carved the name of a fucking _virus_ on your skin. You really trying to tell me you _wanted that_?”

“Yes. And it’s not a name of a virus. It stands for something much older than the virus. Believe me.”

“What, Cas? What the hell does it stand for?” Dean jerks Cas arm as if he’s trying to shove the new carving in Cas’ face.

“I would really like to tell you, Dee, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Until Luci gives me permission, I cannot, with a clear conscience, tell you about it.”

“Cas. I’m your boyfriend,” Dean demands, thumping his thumb against his own chest as if it would give him the right to everything in Cas’ life.

“Dean, aside from father, I’ve loved five people in my life, only four of which are still alive. You, Sam, and Luci.” Cas hopes Dean doesn’t get hung up on the name omitted. “I love you, Dee, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But don’t ask me to betray the trust of anyone I love, however you might feel about them. I won’t. Just like I’ll keep your secrets and await your permission to share them, I honour Luci the same way. I beg of you to accept that. Please,” Cas pleads.

Dean makes a frustrated sound and runs a hand over his face. “Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples. When he lowers his hands and opens his eyes the angry wildfire is banked and hidden. He gives Cas a closelipped pretense of a smile. “So. Didn’t we agree that the loser tonight was gonna get to their knees and do some worshipping with their mouth?” he asks lightly, shoving the argument to the backburner. “On your knees, _wingboy_ ,” he commands tauntingly, a playful glint lighting his eyes. The mood switch is eerie. Or would have been, if Cas believed for a moment that Dean truly decided to drop the subject so easily. Still, it’s acceptance that this discussion will go nowhere and that there are more pleasant things to do than to fight.

Relieved, Cas falls to his knees, reaching for Dean’s belt.

* * *

A while later any disagreements are temporarily forgotten, as well as the cold bite of the air on Cas’ still naked torso. Dean’s hands are buried in Cas hair, holding him down over his dick.

“Hey, Buddy! Take a picture! It’ll last longer!” Dean calls out looking somewhere behind Cas.

Cas pops off. “Dean, it might be a paparazzi,” he points out breathlessly.

“Zero fucks given, Cas.” Dean tries to pull him back down but Cas turns his head to look where Dean’s looking. There, in the darkest part of the unlit alley, just by the corner of the house, a shadow shifts within the shadows. Cas gets the itch between his shoulders. Whoever it is, it isn’t a paparazzi. He’s sure it’s the same person who stalked him earlier, and he refuses to believe a paparazzi could be _that_ good at tailing. “Keep sucking, Angel. Maybe the fucker wants to jerk off to some sexy man on man action.”

If their watcher wanted to shoot or hurt them, he’d had ample of opportunity already, so Cas’ obliges. He’s not bothered by being watched, and no matter how twitchy Dean is about being outed, it all disappears when he’s mid-sex. Dean’s got an exhibitionistic streak a mile wide. Cas’ resolves to report seeing the silent stalker to Luci the next time they meet. For now, if Dean wants to put on a show, then that’s what Dean gets.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment to let me know what you like, dislike, reacted to, and so on! I live for that! <3  
> In the meantime, enjoy this gif of Cas:


	85. Thou shalt have no other gods before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luci and Sam watch the post-game interview together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you celebrate Lucia like we do here in Sweden, here's a chapter for you to celebrate it with. ^^ The next after that won't come for another coupla days, but I'm sure you'll live. ;)
> 
> This was originally part of chapter 83, but it got too long. The theme is the same. (Pieces that don't fit.)
> 
> This chapter has been Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

**WHAT IS HIDDEN...**

* * *

Sam’s very soul hums in contentment. He’s resting against Luci’s side, Luci’s arm around him, Luci’s fingers idly dancing over his skin where his shirt has ridden up an inch, while they watch the game. He’d worried that he’d somehow magnified his prowess in his head. That he only seemed amazing tonight, because the Angels first line was decimated and his own team played like toddlers. But watching it again, he can see that it isn’t the case. Balt and Luci might have been out of the picture, and Gad was slightly off-kilter, but Bartholomew played like a fiend, and Zack and Mack were also showing that they had earned their spots on the team. He really _had_ played like a minor god! Luci’s mostly quiet, purring a praising remark when he does something extra noteworthy on screen.

Then comes the post-game interviews. They watch those too. Sam comes on screen to be interviewed. Funny how Sam sort of had forgotten that Luci might not be completely happy with this particular interview.

_Sam on the TV grins. “Just lucky, I guess. So get this. Somebody I love gave me something…” He digs around inside his pants and pulls up a rabbit’s foot. “Look. It’s this. I’ve been really lucky since the day I got it. Never go anywhere without it.” He turns to face the camera instead of the reporter and holds the rabbit charm up. “Thanks, T. This is all for you. I played for you tonight. I miss you, a lot, actually, and I hope you’re doing well,” he says with a smile, blows a kiss at the camera, then puts the rabbit foot back again._

Luci hits pause, fingers stilling on Sam’s midriff. “Who’s T?” he asks with a deceptively calm and low voice. The temperature in the room seems to drop. Sam’s heart jumps nervously in his chest, stomach churning.

“Nobody.”

“Sam. You know the rules. Don’t. Lie. To me.” Luci’s voice is low and calm, but with a sharp, threatening edge.

“It’s no one. Don’t worry about it.”

The hard slap comes as a surprise and makes Sam suck in a startled breath and go rigid, pulse skyrocketing. “If it was nobody, you wouldn’t have dedicated the game of your fucking life to her. Now _spill_.”

Sam turns his head to look at Luci. Luci’s lips are pressed into a thin line, nostrils flared, face red, and eyes dark. “It doesn't matter, Luce. That part of my life is over.”

“It matters if I say it matters,” Luci states coldly. The threat of violence crackles in the air, but Sam isn’t having any of that. Not now. Not for this. 

“No! Screw you, Luce,” Sam scrambles off the couch and away from Luci, his fear hidden by anger, putting a safer distance between them. “You know what? It’s none of your business who T is. _None_.”

Luci stands up too, but slowly, remaining in place once he’s gotten to his feet. “It is my business, Sam. It’s my business since I know of almost every lover you’ve ever had, you’ve told me about them. But you have evidently gone out of your way to hide her from me, which _means_ , you let her _claim_ you.”

Naturally, Lucifer would make that assumption. And he’s right. Sam had goaded Tom, asking ‘Whose am I?’ until he got to hear ‘Mine!’ through gritted teeth bringing a sweet mental relief to something Sam needs. Something Luci denied him. “Yeah, well, _you_ didn’t!” Sam raises his voice, tapping hurt from an old wound. “You _weren’t there_! You didn’t even deign to give me your phone number, for crying out loud!” Upset, he waves his hands haphazardly. “I was left to rot, always waiting for _you_. Yes, it was understood that I belonged to you. Not because you said it, but because I wanted to. But you weren’t there, Luce. You fucking _weren’t there._ So what if I fell in love with somebody else while you let me waste away? So what if I love other people than you?!”

There’s a vein throbbing on Luci’s forehead and it scares the living shit out of Sam. And if Sam had considered himself to be in the wrong here, he wouldn’t be arguing. If he thought he was wrong, he’d think letting Luci hit him was justified. But not now. He might be afraid of what Luci will do to him, but Tom, Sam’s ex-lover in question, might be in danger if Sam gives him up, and that’s not fair. It’s not fair, because Tom had meant almost as much to Sam as Luci. In fact, he’d saved Sam’s life once, when Sam had been suicidal. Both Sam and he had known the fling could never be more than a fling and accepted that. But Luci, for all his ‘go down to the bar and get it out of your system’ bluster, does not want to share the space for deep romantic love in Sam’s heart, and could apparently, sniff out the competition. Not that there _is_ any competition. But Tom is the closest thing to a rival Luci’s ever had.

“Don’t be absurd, Sam. You can love other people. I know you loved Brady. It’s about _how_ you love them. And about you lying to me about it. It’s like you don’t understand how serious this is. You and me? People are going to _die_ because of it. In fact, people already have. So don’t make a fuss and just give me her name,” Luci argues with strained calm.

Sam shakes his head and backs up another step. “No.” Trying to calm Luci down, Sam starts telling him about Tom. “I met her when I was sixteen,” he says, purposely misgendering Tom to make it harder for Luci to figure out the true identity. “I was out of town to watch Dean play a game and saw her in the hotel bar. Chatted her up and spent the night. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but I programmed my number into her phone while she was sleeping.” Sam can see Luci reining his anger in a notch while he’s talking. “After that, we met up once, twice a year. We both knew it could never be anything serious. She’s married, and―”

“Married?” Luci scrunches up his face in a perturbed grimace. “How old was she when you met?”

“33.”

Luci’s eyes flash angrily. “33?! You let a woman double your age take advanta―”

Oh _HELL_ no!

“No! Don’t dismiss my feelings and my ability to make my own decisions just because I was young! I hadn’t even turned 14 yet when _we_ met and I loved you from the start, so don’t go there!”

Luci hisses in frustration and bends his neck to scowl at the floor. The imminent threat of violence seems to abate, hovering at the edge.

Sam takes a step forward and gestures at the TV. “Look. That was a final goodbye, okay? I will never ever see T again,” he explains placatingly. Luci looks up and meets his gaze. Sam takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. “So get this. The relationship I had with her gave me a shot at feeling normal. She's the only person I've slept with. Like, sleep slept with. I could never spend the night with any of my peers because I used to have night terrors. I still have nightmares sometimes. But I fell asleep with her that first time and when I woke up from a nightmare and cried like a friggin baby she was cool with it. She accepted that I didn't want to talk about it. _You_ know I couldn’t talk about it anyway.”

Luci keeps quiet, listening, so Sam goes on. “When I let slip tiny parts of my upbringing to my friends, like, dad hit us sometimes, or dad would disappear for days on end, they’d be horrified, and look at me with pity, treating me like I was made of glass, and I _hate_ that. I’m _not_ made of glass. But T wasn’t like that. She had her own cross to bear. She didn’t make me feel like a freak. I, I,” Sam gestures in circles with his hands, searching for words,”I never felt like I fit in, okay? I’ve felt like I’m broken, and nobody can see the real me. It’s different with you. When we’re together, I feel whole. I remember when you dropped me off at home after the first time we’d been at the cabin. I remember thinking it then, that you made me feel whole, like we belonged. T never made me feel that way, but with her, it was like, we were both bent out of shape, but we fit together and I didn’t feel like a total misfit with her. I got to have moments of romance like a normal fucking teenager, but with someone mature and empathic enough to see beyond the victim and see that my experiences are part of what makes me _me_. She gave me something I sorely needed.”

“Am I not enough for you?” Luci says flatly with a tone of voice that changes the question into a definitive statement of ‘I am enough for you.’

Sam tries not to give him a fed up bitchface and fails. “Yes, you are. _Now_. But you weren’t there. Sometimes I needed you when you couldn’t be there. I was lucky enough to find someone who once or twice a year could fill part of the void you left. You were always the remedy, Luce. But since you were helping Michael you were also part of the poison you were curing.”

A range of emotions flits over Luci’s face. He swallows thickly and turns his head to scowl at the blocked door, looking hurt.

Sam takes a few steps closer. “Don’t be angry about it. I love you. You’re the one who makes me feel whole and at home.” A few more steps and Sam goes down on his knees in front of Luci, leans his cheek against Luci’s thigh while looking up at him. Physical submission, the primal sort of body language, Sam has learnt, helps subdue Luci most of the time. “It’s you and me now. I belong to _you_. How many times do I have to say yes to you, before you believe me?”

“Her name,” Luci persists, but sounding mostly tired. 

“No.” 

Luci takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face before looking down at Sam. Sam does his best puppy-eyed expression. It works on Dean 99% of the time. Luci reaches out to pet his hair. “Alright,” Luci says at long last. “But never lie to me again. Don’t withhold things. Stuff like this might turn out to be crucial once the war starts.”

“I won't,” Sam promises. It might be a lie. It probably is. He can’t tell if Luci believes him or not.

“Come on. Let's sit back down and forget about this for now.”

Sam almost lets out a sigh of relief and gets to his feet. They sit down, Sam once again curls against Luci’s side. Luci hits play. Not long after, Sam and Cas kiss on TV. Luci turns his head to give Sam a _you've-got-to-be-kidding-me_ look. Sam just grins and shrugs to hide his nerves about Luci’s possible reaction to the kiss. “Now that Dean knows, I might as well come out publicly. ‘Sides, it gives both us, and Dean and Cas, a cover.”

Luci grunts but doesn't comment. The next moment he sniggers at Sam's patronizing sass towards the reporter. 

Sam had expected more of a fuss about the kiss. “You're not about to start a fight about the kiss?”

Luci sighs. “Do you want me to? Because honestly, I think we’ve fought enough for tonight.”

Sam chuckles. “No. I agree with you.”

“Good. Besides, I’ve made Cassie. He knows his place.”

“What do you mean, you’ve _made_ Cas?”

“I’ve made him a croat.”

“A Croatoan? But _why_?”

“At least one of my brothers knows about me and you, aside from Mikey. Like I said, this could be one of the much-needed allies we’re looking for. But I need to talk to him in person to be sure. Cassie will be your protection while I’m away. With a croat who’s got orders to protect you, given straight from a бог брат, other croats will hesitate and delay, to make sure their conflicting orders are valid, before snatching you. Plus Cassie’s been bugging me to be made for ages.” Luci does a really bad impression of Cas, scrunching up his face in a whiny grimace. “‘Luci, being a hockey player is great and all, but being a croat would be a billion times more awesome!’, ‘Gee. I wish I could be a fucking croat. That’d be the best.’, ‘Luci, I―’”

Sam cuts him off with a laugh. “Yeah, no. Cas never said any of that. He’d never use the word ‘croat’. He said it’s a derogatory term. And he said he was very proud of his work back then.”

Luci rolls his eyes. “It’s the _gist_ of what he’s been nagging about. And he’s slightly safer, now that he’s made.”

“In that case, why don’t you make me a Croatoan?”

“No. That will never happen.” Lucifer shakes his head like the very thought is abhorrent. “You’re my boyking, and even if you weren’t, you’re not suited for the job. If you’d have to hang around with other croats they’d peg you as a fraud in no time. At best, they’d think you were an undercover cop.”

“Why?” Sam asks, affronted. 

Luci pushes him away only to sit up straight, then turns his body fully towards Sam, shifting to sit crosslegged. His serious expression prompts Sam to turn his body towards Luci. “First of all, you’re a scholar, Sam. When I tell you about the _Porodica_ , you glaze over what we do and focus on how we make it work. It’s like you are more interested in the mechanics that go into firing the gun, than focusing on the damage of the bullet tearing through the body it hits. _Uh-uh!_ ” Luci makes a sharp rebuking sound to prevent Sam from speaking when Sam draws breath to protest. “I’m not done yet. You also have a whacked moral compass they’d sniff out in minutes.”

“What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with my moral compass.”

Luci gives him a flat look. Sam forms a silent ‘O’ with his mouth when he catches on.

“That’s my point. Cas told you he was proud of his job, right? Do you also understand what he did? Cassie doesn't use guns because they're _impersonal_. But he has a body count. Do you grasp the meaning of that?” Luci pauses for effect. Whatever Sam's face tells him, it's not what he was hoping for. “Maybe I need to be a lot more graphical for you to understand. During his training, Cas did it all. He bashed in kneecaps with a baseball bat, he broke fingers one by one on people, he stole and he threatened the families of people. And that was jobs for pawns, made to test him. He also went in to kidnap high ranking leaders of the Bratva and other competitors of ours, brought them to a бог брат, Babyface, then stood by and did nothing while they were tortured. The next day he went out to do it again, and again, going in vastly outnumbered by armed men. Castiel watched my brother pull the entrails out of a living man. He knows how long someone can live with their entrails outside their body, has seen horror and suffering that makes what happened to you seem like child's play. And his reaction to it wasn't ‘Oh shit, this is insane, I need to get away’, but rather, ‘Oh shit, I can't stay because they might find out I'm living under a false identity, and then I'm next’. You see the difference?”

“But Cas is a good guy,” Sam states without thinking. Plus Cas had said they went after people who deserved it, who’d brought it on themselves.

Luci reaches out and cups Sam’s cheek, caressing with his thumb when Sam tilts his head into the touch. “See, that's your problem, Sammy. That's how you differ from me, Cas, and even Dean. You think of people in terms of good and bad. We think of people in terms of us and them. Croatoans aren't droids, Sam. They can have families, be that nice neighbour that fixes your car for free because they're off work for a couple of days, or whatever. Some of the cruellest people I know are also the most loyal, loving, and self-sacrificing ones. We're all different shades of grey, Sam, not black and white.”

“I _know_ that.”

Luci hums noncommittally. He doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t think you do. Not yet. But you will.” He changes the subject. “Are you staying the night?”

“Can I?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the night is blessedly drama-free, even if Luci keeps himself bundled in clothes and avoids kissing except for a couple of chaste pecks. Sam hardly notices. He’s still high from winning and having had sex with Luci. Physical want was never the main attraction between them anyway. Luci falls asleep curled into a fetal position around a pillow in bed while Sam starfish on his back. Their only point of contact is their hands, fingers loosely intertwined. Sam’s happy, and isn’t woken by any nightmares...

* * *


	86. He who falters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Lucifer have a chat. Everything isn't just sunshine and kittens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everybody! :D Here, have some Luci freaking out. ;D  
> Oh, and Happy Holidays, if you don't celebrate Chrismas. Or just Happy, if you don't do holidays. ;)
> 
> This chapter has been Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

**DANGEROUS MINDSET**

* * *

Incoming text message...

**Lucifer Morningstar 09:42:** _Get yourself over here and enter my room. NOW!_

Cas has a bad feeling in his gut as he makes his way to Luci’s suite. One doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out that the less than pleasant tone of writing might be related to yesterday’s kiss.

He reaches the suite and knocks on the door. There’s no answer so he tries the handle. It’s locked. The wording in the text had been very specific, so when the door doesn’t open he takes out his lockpicks. After four minutes of fiddling and internal swearing he gives up and puts the lockpicks away then backs up to kick the door open. The door gives way but something’s placed in front of it and Cas has to push hard to get the door open enough to squeeze himself inside.

“Pathetic. You need to practise your lockpicking skills, and when you burst into a room I expect you to be quicker and less, well. _Dead_ ,” Luci sneers.

Cas locates his voice coming from the side. Luci’s perched on an upturned armchair, gun trained on him. The door had been blocked by another armchair. The room is completely trashed. “There was an attack?”

“No.”

Cas tilts his head and squints thoughtfully at Luci. It’s confusing. Except maybe not. Balt had once told Cas that when Lucifer is upset the world goes * _boom_ * around him. “What happened?”

Luci lowers his gun and looks around the room disinterestedly. “Life.” He shrugs and makes a dismissive gesture.

“Did you and Sam have a fight?”

“No.”

“I see,” Cas says, not seeing the problem at all. Something is exceedingly wrong. Luci is never unstable. Now he is, and it frightens Cas. As if having to take the lead on the ice yesterday wasn’t bad enough. If he can’t turn to Luci for guidance, and if Luci won’t tell him the problem...

Luci jumps down from his perch and advances on Cas. “While on the topic of Sam,” he says, “You and I need to have a discussion about touching what’s mine, without my explicit permission.” He squares up with Cas, face cold and hard, almost standing close enough for their noses to touch. Cas sniffs discreetly trying to gauge if Luci has been drinking, but can’t smell alcohol on his breath. “I realise I haven’t explained to you what applies when it comes to Sam, so I’m going to make it abundantly clear…” He grips Cas’ neck, squeezing painfully hard, leaning their foreheads together.

Cas swallows thickly, heart jackhammering. He stands still, trying to breathe normally and not to show his fear. Luci is a бог брат. He’s insane. Sasha had been scared of all of the божја браћа, Lucifer included. There are lines you aren’t supposed to cross with them or anything could happen. _Anything_. 

Lucifer’s gaze slowly pans down along Castiel’s body. He scoffs and scowls deeply, pushing himself away from Cas with a disgusted hiss. “For the love of―! I’m not going to kill you, you stupid fuck!”

Cas looks down to see the tent in his pants. He closes his eyes and blushes in shame at his embarrassing fear-tell. 

Luci comes back to poke Cas hard in the chest. “But _you_ , are _not_ , to touch Sam that way, _ever again_ , without my sayso! Fuck, Cassie, I thought that was a given that you understood! You don’t see me sticking my tongue down Dean’s throat, do you???”

Cas looks up to meet his gaze. “If you both wish for it, I don’t mind. But the kiss Sam and I shared wasn’t a real kiss, Luci.”

“ _I’VE GOT FUCKING EYES, CASTIEL!!! IT WAS TELEVISED!_ ” Luci roars in his face.

“Which was the point. We agreed to fake a kiss for the cameras. And I had every intention to clear it with you first. But time was of the essence and you weren’t around.”

“Then you shouldn't have done it! All because your stupid fucking boyfriend hasn't had his balls drop yet! _Fuck!_ ”

“I don’t see what’s so upsetting about it. Sam's my best friend. Neither I, nor Sam, have any erotic or romantic intentions towards each other. It was a purely tactical move to kiss.”

Luci crosses his arms over his chest and mock-nods. “Tactical. Right. Right. And Dean? What did he have to say about it?”

“He said I should have asked him first so he could veto it. He said I should have kissed him instead.”

“See?! It's because he's a smart guy!”

Cas doesn't call Luci out on just having claimed Dean stupid a moment ago. “As much as I would have wanted that, what was done was the most tactical option,” Cas repeats. “Even more so now that you've made me. Your affiliation with Sam will be seen as the family of one of your Croatoans circling in your vicinity. Only Michael will know it's not the case. And you've told me he's not ratting you out.”

Luci throws his hands up in frustration and turns to stalk over to the couch. He sits down on the ruined backrest (stabbed and cut so the stuffing pokes out in several places) and tips over backwards to lie on the seat. Only his legs stick up, dangling over the backrest. “I don't _want_ fucking _anyone_ to think Sam belongs to anyone but _me_!” Luci makes some kind of jerk and the couch tips over back towards Cas. Luci ends up sitting on the backrest, legs stretched out on the floor and the seat as his backrest. “That includes _you_ , Castiel.”

“Forgive me,” Cas says, insincerely but trying to hide it, “I thought the custom between us was to share, велики брат.” They don’t have a policy like that. But the божја браћа do. And Cas thinks he needs to remind Luci that they’re supposed to be brothers. If nothing else, to lessen Luci’s ire towards him.

Luci twitches and blinks, looking jarred as if Cas’ just threw a drink in his face by calling him ‘big brother’. The level of mental instability he’s showing, stresses Cas out. Luci never explained why he made Cas. He came into the shower stall, carved the full ‘Croatoan’, kissed Castiel’s forehead, and left without a word of explanation. Something has happened and Cas feels the need to know what. Normally he’d be content with ‘need to know basis’. But this situation calls for some clarification.

Cas averts his gaze, looking to the side at the broken bedroom door. “Or did you retract our familial bond when you made me?” He shifts his posture from the wary, but relaxed pose he’s had so far, into the pose of a soldier standing at ease, waiting for orders. “If so, I was not aware, and I humbly apologise. Бог брат.”

“No. No no no no _no_.” Luci’s on his feet striding over to Cas as soon as the title is out of Cas’ mouth. Once again he pulls Cas in by hooking his hand around his neck (not painfully this time) and leans their foreheads together with a haunted expression on his face. “No. No, мали брат. Never. Don’t. Don’t do that. That’s too hard. Too hard. Just don’t, мали брат.”

Cas raises his hands, intending to hug, but Luci shies away and starts pacing. “You don’t need a hug?” Cas asks with a confused little squint, following Luci with his gaze. Luci’s distress level indicates it, but for the rest…?

Luci stops with his back to Cas in the far end of the room and tilts his head towards the ceiling. “I need for nobody to touch me _at all_ , for the next decade or so.”

Oh.

Cas swallows. Unsure of how to proceed.

Luci turns around, looks at him for a beat, then resumes his pacing.

“I take it you did not have a good night yesterday. What happened?” Cas probes. His hands are sweating. There’s a clock ticking somewhere behind a dresser to his left.

“Nothing... Oh, but Sam thinks I’m poison. Sam holds it against me that I stayed away to keep him safe, despite knowing _why_. I’m not wired to supply what Sam wants from me. _Needs_ from me. Whether he claims the opposite or not. You are. Balt is. Mikey is. Everybody in the fucking world is, except for me,” Luci rants, hopping up to perch on the overturned armchair again. He waves dismissively and crosses his arms over his chest. “And I was fucking dumb enough to make Sammy a promise not to talk about Mikey unless he asks me to, and that practically imposes a gag on me when it comes to discussing my feelings with him. I didn’t think before I gave that promise and it took mere minutes before I realised that it was a mistake. Now I can’t discuss fucking _anything_ personal with him, because Mikey ties into my emotions regarding fucking _everything_. My childhood, hockey, coming here, Sam, sex, the future, my dog, _every-thing_. Mikey’s been the golden thread that runs through my life and ties it together.”

Luci rarely talks about Michael with Cas. He doesn’t like for anyone to bring the topic up. Cas draws breath to answer, but it seems Luci still doesn’t want to talk about it with him because Luci cuts him off.

“And nevermind him, Sam’s being difficult. He’s holding onto ideals that will get us all killed. He’s in denial of both himself and us, refusing to admit he has a so-called ‘dark side’. It’s there. A pretty broad stroke of it. But no. Supposedly, he’s a ‘good guy’. Here’s the catch,” Luci says, making a grand gesture and mock smiling like he’s making a joke, “good guys don’t win. If he holds onto these fucked up ideals of his and tries to stop us from acting in a, to him, unsuiting way, we’ll lose half the chances we stand to make allies and gain information, not to mention get rid of enemies. He simply refuses to be sensible.” He suddenly falls quiet, tilts his head, and scrunches his face up in an unsure grimace, looking at Cas. “Did I inform you that one of my brothers knows about me and Sam, aside from Mikey?”

Cas’ stomach lurches. “You did not.”

“Well. They do. Douglas knows. He sent a croat to convey that he knows and that he wants to talk to me about it in person. It could be the ally we need. But it could also be a setup. And if Doug knows, others might too.”

This explains why Luci’s acting so out of character. It means the civil war might be about to start and they’re horribly unprepared for it. They need more time. They need more allies. They need― Cas makes a long list in his head. “I don’t think Dean’s ready to be told.”

“Most definitely not. He hates me, but he’ll side with us in a heartbeat once he realises that I wasn’t the one to hurt Sam all those years ago, and that Sam’s under threat even if I picked up and left for Antarctica, never to come back. Dean’s pragmatic. The reason _he_ shouldn’t be told just yet, is that he wouldn’t welcome teaming up with any of my brothers yet, and he’s too pissed at me for making you.”

Cas squints in confusion at him. “He didn’t seem excessively upset about it after the initial reaction.”

Luci crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “Not to _you_. But Dean and I have a history. He’ll be cornering me alone somewhere and read me the riot act for putting a knife to your skin. That’s between him and me and it will go down whether you try to stop it or not. I’m not particularly bothered by it. Just don’t tell him the full story yet. It’s Sam’s reluctance to see reason that bothers me. We need to start preparing for what’s to come.”

“Agreed. I’d recommend getting more Croatoans to work security around twin towns. I don’t know who might be suitable, though.”

“Already thought of that. You and I need to start doing jobs to dust off our skills. I will start talking with my brothers over the phone more. And I’m thinking that we officially station croats in the city, then bring them to twin towns under guise of something else. But how to hide to my brothers that I’m trying to bind Croatoans to me for personal reasons?” 

This is better. Luci’s acting more like himself. More like a captain and an older brother, getting more stable with every word. Cas’ stress goes down a couple of notches. “That’s easy. Find Croatoans with primarily medical backgrounds. Former doctors, medics, and so on. Let them act as the team medic, massage therapist. Put one of them as a replacement for Raphael. He doesn’t have to know anything about hockey, you’ll be training the team anyway, he only has to pretend to be the official trainer. And may I suggest that we hire female guards?”

“There are no female Croatoans.” Luci looks at him as if he’s retarded.

Cas smirks. “Exactly. Therefore they won’t expect you to use women for our security. But we can have them around, pretending to be puck bunnies, girlfriends, housekeepers.”

Luci looks thoughtful, then pleased. “Very good, мали брат. I’ll look into that.” He looks around the room and grimaces. “We need to get going. There are several mid-level jobs in this city. You and I are going to do them before we go home. And from here on out, I don’t want to see you using your keys until you’re skilled enough to pick a lock in under a minute.” Luci rattles off a string of instructions about what they’re about to do and Cas can barely contain his excitement. It’s a bit ironic that they’re going to do jobs for the _Porodica_ , only in preparation to defend themselves against the organization. But Cas doesn’t care. This excites him. With Luci showing his old self and the prospect of some high-intensity action in the near future, Cas doesn’t dwell on Luci’s unstable state of mind when he got here. He no longer hears the clock behind the dresser ticking.

* * *


	87. Grabbing the Bull by the Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas are enjoying themselves too much. Luci and Dean are not impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fandom crossover easter egg in this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter has been Beta read by my awesome Betas [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21) and [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

**SAM FUCKING WINCHESTER TRENDING**

* * *

Late April

“ _Dean_! Come look at this!” Sam calls out from the couch, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Dean leaves the kitchen carrying his cup of coffee and comes to sit down beside him. The TV’s showing Good Morning America. Two hockey players from the ChHL team Vaqueros HC sit on the couch, being interviewed.

“... _I’d like to welcome Jesse and Cesar Cuevas to the show. First of all, congratulations on your marriage. It came as a surprise to many of us,_ ” the host says.

“ _Yes. We understand that. But it shouldn’t have,_ ” Cesar says and takes Jesse’s hand with a warm smile. “ _It’s the power of fear at work. We’ve hesitated to make our love official for fear of being fired from our jobs as well as being harassed and persecuted for our sexuality. But in the wake of the Winchester kiss, and then Jack Zimmermann from the Falcs coming out, we thought it was time._ ”

“I’ll be damned…” Dean mutters under his breath.

“I knooow,” Sam coos, sounding choked up.

Dean throws him a dubious look. “Dude. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

“No, but, Dean. They dared to get married because I kissed Cas on live television! It’s like, I did that, and took the first backlash, and because of it, several others have dared to come forward. Like Jack Zimmermann! That’s huge! He’s huge in the ChHL and he came out as gay because of what I started! I never thought that kiss would grow into something so big.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, turning his attention to the TV again.

Jesse’s speaking. “ _My brother Matty died when I was twelve. I met Cesar not long after that. He helped me through the grieving process and we fell in love. We’ve been a couple ever since. We’ve hidden our love for nearly two decades, so we thought it was time…_ ”

The Winchesters watch the rest of the interview with various degrees of awe. Dean fucking envies Sam. He’d taken every interview where they brought up the subject, with a superior smirk and confidence that reminded Dean of Lucifer. If the reporter was hostile and condescending Sam turned into Sassmaster 5000. If they were positive and sympathetic he turned into a Friendly Nerd-Puppy. #WinchesterKiss trended on Twitter for days. Then Zimmermann came out, both in a televised interview and with a tweet using that particular hashtag. Sam appeared amused by the circus. He had zero fucks to give about the hate. “ _Dean. I’ve been openly out since I was 14,_ ” he’d said. Interviews with old classmates in the local press confirmed it. According to Sam’s old schoolmates, Sam had been fucking royalty in school, dating that guy Brady who had been the biggest star in school, on and off. Sam denied that they’d been dating, but his classmates swore it. And this is something Dean has trouble coping with. Not that Sam dated a guy, but how he’d managed to hide so much of himself from Dean. That he’d thought he had to. Dean feels like the worst brother ever.

The team had been partly fooled by the diversion Cas and Sam created. They were unsure if Dean was bi or not. Ennis refused to accept Sam’s (and Dean’s) sexuality. He’d been kicked off the team when a warning hadn’t been enough to get him to quiet down. Apparently, there is some clause in their contract about bullying/misconduct that his openly homo-/bi-phobic behaviour violated. Dean wouldn’t know. He doesn’t read contracts before he signs. Especially not one Gabe hands him. Dean still refused to talk to Benny about anything except hockey and Benny stopped trying. Somehow they manage to play well together anyway. Sam keeps playing better than ever, even if he doesn’t manage to live up to his brilliance in the derby.

There's been a photo circulating of Sam and Cas holding hands at a farmers market, that makes the two of them giggle mischievously and Dean to want to hurl. Cas and Sam vehemently deny dating when questioned by people, but thoroughly enjoy playing it ambiguously. Dean hate hate HATES it. 

To top Dean's misery off, Luci has been a pissbaby since the derby, acting out of sorts. As much as Dean wants Luci to suffer, having him around when he's in a bad mood is not a fucking hoot. And he’s around too often. Funny thing is, Sam and Cas don’t notice how off Luci’s acting. Or at least, that’s what they say when he brings up the subject. Maybe it’s because they’re not attuned to Luci’s violent side like Dean is, after all their skirmishes over the years. Now it’s boiling under the surface at all times.

And as if that isn't enough, the Croatoan virus is spreading and the government has proposed an assembly ban to stop it from spreading. So now the hockey season is threatened to be cut short before it's over. That would fucking suck. Dean's not worried about some goddamned virus. New viruses pop up ever so often. The world doesn't end because a few people get the sniffles. Nor should the hockey season, thank you very much!

The only upside is that now that Sam knows, Dean can kiss and cuddle with Cas as much as he wants at home. Granted, Sam did blow a fuse when he came home to find Cas bending Dean over the kitchen table, but other than that he's cool with it.

* * *

**RINSE AND REPEAT**

* * *

Dean's in bed strumming his guitar when his phone rings. He doesn't recognize the number but picks up anyway. “Dean Winchester speaking?”

Lucifer tuts. “Why are you phrasing that as a question? I would think that's one of the very few things you'd be a 100% certain of,” he mocks.

Dean grits his teeth. “Luci. How the fuck did you get my number?”

Luci snorts. “I've had your number for years, Dean. Don't make a big fuss about it.”

Dean’s not even remotely surprised. “Fucking fine. Let me rephrase the question. Why are you _using_ my number?”

“Because we need to talk. I don't like this idiotic farce our brothers are playing out. I suspect you don't either.”

“So?”

“So fucking grow a pair and do something about it!” Luci snaps irritably.

Dean’s still pissed at Luci for cutting Cas. At first opportunity to get Luci alone Dean had sought him out, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against a wall. He’d even gotten two quick, solid hits in before Luci turned the tables on them. ‘ _A few months ago Cas came home with a big bruise and a gash on his cheek, that you unjustly placed there. Yet you’re neither dead nor disabled, because Cas assured me he wanted it. Now, Cas wanted me to carve him, so I did. It’s time for you to swallow your ire and respect that, like I respected Cas’ wishes back then,_ ’ Luci had said once Dean was subdued. Luci’s right, but Dean doesn’t have to like it. Cas had even rubbed an antibiotic ointment mixed with granular sugar to irritate the carving to make sure it scarred properly. It looks pretty damned badass. When Cas is all sweet and dorky, the carving serves as a reminder that he’s also a violent headcase. The more time that passes, the less Dean cares about that.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about it?! I’ve told them to cut it out and they ain’t fucking listening to me!”

Luci makes a sound somewhere between a low growl and a hum. “Let’s put it this way, Dean. If you _don’t_ do something about it, I’ll choke down my protests and instead start to encourage them. I’ll make sure they look completely and utterly in love, and that they get caught on camera in compromising situations. With how much fun they’ve been having, acting out this asininity, how much convincing do you think it will take, hmm? Just think of how they acted when we passed the Westboro Baptist Church protesters.” Lucifer pauses long enough for it to sink in, but not long enough for Dean to answer. “As for what you need to do? You know the answer to that already. And while you’re at it, you might as well remedy this silly situation between you and Benny. The man hasn’t got a homophobic bone in his body, but as usual, you’re making assumptions and acting on them without giving people a chance to explain themselves. Goodbye, Dean.” He hangs up, leaving Dean to scowl fiercely at the wall, phone still aggressively pressed against his ear and jaw muscles clenching.

Lucifer is right. It would take no encouragement whatsoever to make Cas and Sam dial up the volume of their fake romance. Dean fucking hates it. He hates it more than he hates Lucifer. And what the hell does Luci have to do with Dean and Benny’s conflict? The fucker always knows too much.

Dean pockets his phone and gets out of bed, leaving the guitar where it is. He doesn’t doubt for a second Luci will make good of his threat. And Dean can’t have that.

* * *

Dean’s first stop is by Bobby’s, but Bobby is busy talking to a customer, so Dean gets back into Baby and drives to The Roadhouse. 

He parks the car and takes a couple of deep breaths, wishing his heart wouldn’t beat so God damned fast. Steeling himself, he gets out of the car and goes to knock on the door. It’s only three o’clock. The Roadhouse won’t open until four. But Ellen, and maybe Jo, will be here prepping. His hands are sweating, and so is the back of his neck. He feels cold and clammy.

Through the glass in the door, he sees Ellen come out from behind the counter and come towards the door to open. She unlocks and greets him with a warm smile. “Dean. What are you doing here? Did Gabe call a team meeting he on purpose failed to inform me of? Come in, come in.” She beckons him inside and walks back to the bar looking at Dean over her shoulder. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks. And, uh, no. Gabe’s got nothing to do with why I’m here. I need to talk to you. Is Jo around?” Dean leans his elbows against the bar. He’s overheating, feeling like a furnace under his clothes. He can’t stop it. Even if he doesn’t think this will go badly his body’s reacting with fear. He casts a glance at himself in the mirror behind the liquor bottles behind the bar. His cheeks are red and covered with a faint sheen of sweat. He’s reminded of looking at another mirror in here, fractured from his punch. He’d hated every reflection. Luci had bid him choose who he wanted to see looking back at him. And the fucker is right. Sam and Cas are enabling him not to make that choice and it only makes him hate his reflection more.

Ellen places his beer in front of him. “She’s in the kitchen. Did something happen? Are you alright?” she asks, a concerned wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

He presses his lips into a thin smile. “I’m fine. Kinda. Could you sit down with me for a bit? Jo too?”

“Of course. Hold on. _Jo!_ ”

“ _What?!_ ” Jo shouts back.

“Get your ass out here! Dean wants to talk with us!”

Dean chuckles and gestures towards his favourite booth before grabbing his beer and making his way over there.

He sits down to wait. Before they’ve come to join him he’s downed half his beer to calm his nerves. They pick up on his grave mood and sit down to stare quietly at him, waiting.

“Okay, so, um, I―” Dean’s mouth feels like a desert and his voice cracks. He has to clear his throat and take another sip of beer, then rubs his hands against his thighs to remove the sweat from his palms. He tries again. “I’m bisexual.” There. He said it. Ellen and Jo’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “I’m in love with Cas.” He pummels on before Jo can say anything when he sees her draw breath to interrupt him. “Cas and I are dating, and have been for a while.” 

“What? I thought Sam and Cas―?” 

“No,” Dean cuts off before Jo can finish. “They pulled that fucking hoax to protect me because I didn’t want to come out and there was some picture on Twitter that got people speculating. Had they asked me before they did it, I woulda told them not to.”

“Oh, wow.” Jo leans back in her seat to blink at him with a dumbstruck expression. “I mean, I knew Sam was bi before he kissed Cas, but this is just―”

“You _knew_?”

“Yeah. We went to the same school, remember? We didn’t hang back then because he hung out with the popular clique and the total nerds, and all they did was study and party, and I preferred to hang with the horse-loving girls in my class. I had my pony-phase. But Sam and this guy Brady were, like, the school’s power couple.”

Dean rubs his hand over his mouth and stares at Jo wide-eyed, feeling shell-shocked. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“Dude, I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew! Sam denied that they were dating, but you could tell by looking at them. They weren’t exactly hiding.” Jo goes on when Dean remains silent with a sinking feeling in his gut. “It’s not like he was into guys in general. He said he had a type. Blond and athletic, he said, then winked at Brady. To my knowledge, he’s never shown interest in any other guy. Plus he was the biggest player back then, doing practically every girl who threw themselves at him.”

“Sam?”

“Yes.”

“ _My_ Sam?” Dean repeats skeptically.

“Yeah, Dean. _Your_ Sam.” Jo gives him a snippy look. “Believe it or not, but Sam’s smooth as fuck―”

“Language,” Ellen reprimands.

“ ―when dealing with girls. Hell, he even had me fawning over him for a while.”

“I thought you were fawning over me,” Dean jokes on autopilot and waggles his eyebrows, reeling at the information that someone so close to them had known when he didn’t.

“Shaddap. Did not,” Jo blushingly denies with a giggle. 

“It’s the Winchester genes, sweetie. We were all fawning over John when we were young,” Ellen tells them with an amused smile before turning serious, looking at Dean with sympathy. “I must say, Dean, I never suspected that you had these kinds of feelings towards boys. It must have been hard for you to carry this around for so long.” She reaches out and places her hand on his. “Be assured, Jo and I support you.” Jo nods along with an earnest face. “And I’m happy you’ve found somebody. Friend or boyfriend, as long as you’re happy, so am I.” Ellen’s smile is warm and kind. 

“Me too. Cas is pretty cool,” Jo agrees.

Dean’s body feels like overcooked noodles from the relief. He smiles slowly, looking at his beer bottle, twisting it around on the table. “Yeah… He is.” He chuckles to himself. “You know, once he…” Dean starts telling them a little about his crush on Cas and how they got together.

* * *

Dean has mixed feelings when he drives away from The Roadhouse. His body feels like jelly from the relief at the reception he’d gotten. It’s great to be able to talk about him and Cas, like he’d once gushed about Lisa to Ellen. At the same time, he feels like the shittiest brother _ever_. Sam had been afraid to come out to him.

Sam fucking Winchester, who sassed and trolled the media, who shook off any hate from strangers, who had zero fucks to give, _was afraid to come out to him!_

Sam’s his fucking life! How could he ever get into his head, that Dean would be anything but protective of him?

Dean switches the blinkers on and turns into the parking lot outside of Singer’s Auto. This time when he enters the workshop he’s in luck. Bobby’s in the office. Dean takes a fortifying breath. Then another one. It annoys him that he once again is starting to sweat and feel overheated and cold. This will go well, he knows it. So why is he so God damned nervous?

He pushes the door open, steps inside, and locks the door behind him before he turns towards Bobby.

Bobby looks up from the ledger in front of him with a scowl. “Our damned Honda supplier has raised their prices again. Gonna have to find us another supplier for the parts or I’m gonna have to raise prices too,” he complains.

_Alright. I can do this. Here we go._ “I’m bisexual.”

Bobby’s perplex expression would be funny if Dean didn’t feel like throwing up. “Uh-huh?”

“I’m in love with Cas,” Dean pushes on.

“Uh-huh?” Bobby’s stare turns flat.

“We’re dating. Have been, uh, for a while.”

“I figured.”

“You knew?” _That_ was something Dean hadn’t expected.

Bobby sighs tiredly and lifts his scruffy cap off to rub a hand over his head. “No, son. I didn’t know. I suspected.” He puts the cap back on and leans back in his chair.

“Why didn’t you say anything? How come you suspected?” Dean asks bewildered.

“What do you want me to say, boy? I’ve told you, what a man does in his bedroom is his own damned business. As for why? When Cas came here it was Benny all over again. I simply figured that the crush didn’t fizzle out the same way, since both of you have been making cow eyes at each other.”

Dean needs to sit down or his legs might give way. He manages to make his way to the chair in front of Bobby’s desk and falls onto it without breaking gaze. “Benny? What’s he got to do with this? I’ve never had a crush on him.” 

Bobby leans forward again and rests his elbows on the desk. “I ain’t saying you did, son. I’m just sayin it looked like it to me. The low-key resentment, following him around picking fights just to get his attention, obsessing. You mighta simply hated the guy, but it didn’t look it. Same with Cas.”

Dean shakes his head in baffled denial.

Bobby rolls his eyes and is prompted to speak by Dean’s silence. “Ya went around mutterin’ about that ‘stupid Benny with his stupid accent and stupid strong hands’, and I heard ya muttering about that ‘stupid Angel and his stupid blue eyes’ so what’s a man to think?”

“Apparently, that I had a crush on them…?” Dean answers weakly, not knowing whether to laugh or be mad. “Look, Bobby, maybe I _did_ have a crush on Benny too, in the beginning. But if I did, I sure as hell didn’t know it. I figured out I swung both ways, only a few months ago, and only because Cas kept hitting on me. But you’re saying you’re okay with it?”

“Why shouldn’t I be, boy?”

“So you don’t have a problem with me bringing Cas for Thanksgiving, or Christmas, treating him like I would a girlfriend?”

Bobby heaves a sigh. “Son, I love you boys like you were my own. Who you date ain’t gonna change that.”

_Yeah, but dad kicked my ass for even the slightest hint at being a fag, and I_ was _his own son, so excuse me for wanting to be sure,_ Dean thinks bitterly.

Bobby’s face scrunches up in a grimace. “But tell me, son, why did them idjits go kissin’ on TV?”

* * *

It’s dinner time so Dean calls Sam. “Oy, Sammy! I’m about to pick up some grub. You want some?” he says when Sam picks up. There is loud music in the background.

Sam sounds happy and drunk when he speaks. “Dee! No thank you. I’m in the city. Havin’ a beer with, um, Luce.”

“Lucifer? Why the hell are you out drinking with that son of a bitch?”

“Um. Because he’s my friend and I like him?” Sam answers with uncertainty.

Dean grits his teeth. “Is Cas there?”

“No, he’s at his place. He had some new furniture delivered today.”

“Good. And you can stop that fucking charade you’ve been keeping up. I’ve come out to Ellen, Bobby, Jo, Vic, and the rest of the gang. I don’t care about the media, but you gonna stop pawing my boyfriend or I’ll break your fucking face.”

Sam makes a delighted noise, meaning he’s reached sappy levels of drunk. “Luce! Dean’s come out to the family!” He exclaims, covering the phone with his hand to muffle his shout. Then he’s back. “That’s, that’s great, Dee. I’m happy for you!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Let me speak to Luci,” he demands.

“You wanna talk to Luce? Are you sure that’s a good id―” Sam’s abruptly cut off. Dean hears Sam utter an indignant ‘ _Hey!_ ’ and then Lucifer’s voice comes through the speaker. “Well done, Dean. I knew you knew how to stop the nonsense. Have you resolved the Benny situation too?” he purrs, voice made softer by alcohol.

“Fuck you. That’s none of your business. Where ya at?”

“We’re at The Verve. Want to join us? My treat.”

“The Verve? Isn’t that a gay club? What are you doing there?”

“What you usually do at gay clubs, jackass. We’re _drinking_. You coming or not?” Luci snipes impatiently.

Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel in annoyance. Part of him wants to put the pedal to the medal and get himself over there just so he could oversee that Luci doesn’t do anything untoward to Sam. But Sam’s happy enough and Dean’s exhausted. “You carrying?”

“Mmhm,” Luci hums in confirmation.

“Yeah, no. I’ll pass. You keep my brother safe, right?”

“Believe me, the world will end before I let a hair on Sam’s head be harmed. You sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Yeah. Today’s been an endless string of coming outs. I’m wrung out. Heh. Zeddmore and Spangler even gave me a speech about how gay love could pierce the veil of death or some bullshit like that.”

Lucifer laughs. “I can imagine your fed-up level would have reached its maximum by then.”

Dean chuckles tiredly. “Nah, that would have been when I told Garth. He clapped a hand to his heart and started fucking _crying_. Then he hugged me and wouldn’t let go, suggesting we should throw a coming out party.” Dean makes a gagging noise and Luci laughs again, pulling Dean into joining him in mirth. “Bobby already knew,” Dean finds himself confessing. “I don’t get how, but he did.”

“Mmh. He’s a perceptive man. I’d say the reason would be that he doesn’t take people’s sexuality for granted, and as such doesn’t try to explain romantic behaviour as platonic,” Luci muses.

“Yeah… probably.” Dean purses his lips in thought for a bit, hesitates, then, “Hey, Luci? You’ve been creepy-ass keeping track of us for years, right?” Luci knew Dean was into Cas even when Cas hadn’t said anything. He always studies people silently. He might know.

Luci sniggers. “I deny everything,” he jokes. Definitely as drunk as Sam. At least he’s in a good mood.

“No, you have. Say… Man, this is a fucking stupid-ass question. But did I have a crush on Benny when he got here?” Luci breaks out in a full belly-laugh and Dean faceplants on the steering wheel. It was a bad idea asking. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

Luci collects himself with a couple of stray giggles. “No, no. Forgive me, but that’s hilarious. Yes. You did. It wasn’t reciprocated or this big gay freakout of yours might have happened a lot sooner.” He sniggers again.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. Now, if you change your mind, you know where to find us. Buh-bye,” Luci teases and ends the call by making kissy-noises.

Dean makes a disgusted noise and keeps his head rested against the steering wheel. He’s got no idea why he had this conversation with Luci instead of Sam. Maybe because Sam’s drunk and likely to be the wrong kind of obnoxious? Or maybe it’s because of the bad conscience towards Sam, that has been steadily growing today. Sam’s been afraid to come out to him and that grates on him. And let’s not delve into why it makes him feel safer to know that Lucifer is armed when he’s out with Sam, when he loathes Luci so much. At least the fucker is ace and won’t be bad-touching Sam unless _Sam_ bullies him into it. _Heh. Now there’s a thought._ Dean smirks, remembering how Luci had reacted when Sam groped his thigh. _Yeah, no. It’s not like they’re gonna end up 3rd basing it against a wall. And if they did, I bet it’d be Luci who I’d have to comfort for feeling molested._

.....

_Not that I would. I hate the fucker. Right? Right._

_The fuck did that thought even come from?_

Dean sits up straight and rubs a hand over his face. He’d worried about being outed on TV, but in hindsight, Sam was the smarter of them. He’d never thought about how you had to do it over and over. He’d worried that everybody would magically know. The opposite was true. Aside from Bobby, he’d more or less had to rub it in. ‘I never would have guessed’ had been the reaction of several people this far. When he told Vic and Vic gave him the ‘ would never have guessed’ Dean had countered, saying ‘Dude. I’ve all but cuddled with Cas in front of you when we’ve been out drinking.’ Vic’s answer was ‘Yeah, but that’s just _you_ , you know?’

After the third person he’d told, he’d been less nervous, but nowhere near free of nerves. No negative reactions so far. In a way, he’s sort of disappointed. Relieved, yes, totally. But it’s been anticlimactic.

“Whelp. Let’s up the ante,” he tells himself and starts the car again.

* * *

Christian Campbell's cottage lies just outside of Freeville in the woods. He's got his eyes on one of the big, luxury homes near the bridge connecting the towns and until he can afford it he lives with the frugality of a trapper. Dean and he don't socialize much outside of hockey, but Dean remembers well enough how Chris had been standing with Ennis. If anyone would react badly, it would be Chris, right? 

Dean parks the car beside Christian's old junker and walks the last stretch to the cabin. Chris is outside chopping wood in the light of an oil lamp. “Oy, Chris!” Dean calls out. 

Chris straightens up and turns around, drying sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Dean,” he greets curtly and waits.

Dean stops a few meters away and puts his hands in his pockets. “I'm bisexual.”

Chris stares at him flatly and doesn't answer. 

“I'm in love with Cas and we're dating.”

They stare at each other silently for a while before Chris speaks. “That's it?”

“Yup.”

Chris grunts and starts turning back towards the wood chopping block. 

“Are you gonna have a problem with that?” Dean prompts. 

Chris halts his move then drops the axe and turns around with a sour twist to his lips. Slowly he takes off his gloves and puts them in his belt. “Always with the drama on your side of the family,” he says. It's rare for either of them to acknowledge that they're cousins. Mary's parents had died before Dean was born and when Mary died the Campbells had considered that branch of the family tree severed. Chris saunters up to him slowly until he stops inside of Dean's personal space. He puts his hands in his back pockets and tilts his head back lazily, posturing. “I don't know, Dean. Will I?”

“I'm not gonna hit on you if that's what you think.”

Chris scoffs. “I don't care if you do. I don't care who you fuck. What I care about is winning. Let's get this straight. I ain't ever had a dirty thought about another guy. But if I thought you'd play better for it, I'd let you blow me before a game.”

Dean clenches his jaw at the challenge Christian emits. “Oh yeah? Then why were you standing with Ennis?”

“Because you were playing like shit, handing the game over to your boyfriend. If you can't get your game on during derbys, you have no business being on the ice sabotaging the rest of us.”

Dean wants to punch the asshole. But he _had_ been playing like shit that game even if the reason isn't the one Chris accuses him of. “I wanna win just as much as you do, Chris.”

“Good.” Chris drops his posturing. “Then that's settled. Wanna come in for a beer?”

Dean doesn't. But he sees the peace offering for what it is. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

* * *

He's come out to his family and all of his team except for Benny. It's a relief. Part of him wonders why he forgot to tell all of them not to tell anyone. Part of him knows the answer already. He's almost at Cas’ house when the thought hits him. “Shit! I forgot about Adam.”

He considers skipping Adam and just pull him aside tomorrow at practice instead. But just thinking of having to do this bullshit tomorrow all over again, is exhausting. Miffed, he turns the car around.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fandom crossover was '[Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/57705111693)' - an awesome hockey webcomic that thought "Let's make it gayer!" If you want fic recs within that fandom, my favourite writer is [Tiptoe39](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39), whom also writes SPN fics.
> 
> Remember to be the most awesome you can be and leave a comment! I live for that shit! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and Volatile Chemistry has it's own [Tumblr](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/). Anything related to the fic and the VC'Verse will be posted there. Go follow. ;)


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